tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60580234734839582572015-03-03T12:24:01.441+11:00edenlandTruth is always exciting. Speak it, then. Life is dull without it.
- Pearl Buckeden rileyhttps://plus.google.com/105919584625347453034noreply@blogger.comBlogger959125Edenlandhttps://feedburner.google.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6058023473483958257.post-83139661296713564462015-03-03T12:24:00.000+11:002015-03-03T12:24:01.459+11:00Not Even The King.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I don't care about a lot of "stuff." I'd be happy with one small house and fresh food and board games (YES REALLY) and talking to each other instead of watching television.<br /><br />I used to only ever wanted to be happy - but happiness is not a given. <i>We are not owed happiness in life.&nbsp;</i>Took me years to work that out. And these days, all I want to feel is ok. That's all.<br /><br />I don't feel ok very often.<br /><br />The response to my post yesterday overwhelmed me deeply and just thank you so much - for your kindness and truth. This whole thing has really sent me into quite a bad spin and I've been grappling with it, trying to make it go away in my mind. Writing about it yesterday helped a whole lot, and that's what I wish for everyone - the freedom of expression in all forms, without the fear of judgement and criticism and hate and HOW DARE YOU DO THAT.<br /><br />I had a strange few days last week - ended up in Sydney for a few days, completely unplanned. I just got given an opportunity and took it. Why not. I walked around a lot - SO many memories there for me, mostly bad. But when I scuttled back to my hotel late at night with my Coke Zero and pretzels, looking forward to watching TV shows all night because THAT definitely makes me happy .... I noticed all the tents set up up in parks?<br /><br />WHAT THE HELL.<br /><br />Homelessness in Sydney was never that bad in the nineties. I talked to a lot of people - it's just what I do. I'm a curious cat.<br /><br />I just care. I think the answer to life is not gold or riches or possessions or showing off or being perfect. It's to give - and give, and give, to others. As much as you can. That's the answer.<br /><br />So while I'm trying to "get on" with things including the recent separation with my husband after fifteen years, moving into a new house, trying to study - I'll give. Because I'm selfish and giving makes me feel good.<br /><br />I'm hoping to get through the next bit ok. Don't know. Things have been extraordinary hard, but I'm trying to step up.<br /><br /><br /></div><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ahsFa6AYRaQ" width="560"></iframe></div>eden rileyhttps://plus.google.com/105919584625347453034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6058023473483958257.post-45353810663596685642015-03-02T14:46:00.003+11:002015-03-02T15:17:22.921+11:00The Dark Side Of Blogging.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bKu-2Q29W4Y/VPPDFMrQSoI/AAAAAAAALhA/LxN2sNq0hHQ/s1600/photo.PNG-16.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bKu-2Q29W4Y/VPPDFMrQSoI/AAAAAAAALhA/LxN2sNq0hHQ/s1600/photo.PNG-16.jpeg" height="393" width="400" /></a></div><i>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; photo credit - me!</i><br /><br />A few years ago I received an email from a chick who worked nightshift at a rehab - I think it was part of a hospital. Anyway, she contacted me out of the blue, told me every week she'd sit down with the patients and read out my blog posts to them. I was amazed, gobsmacked. Obviously the posts I've written on this blog about being an addict/alcoholic would have struck a chord with them, but she read all my other ones out too - random ones I write, ones I can't remember now. I don't often go back and read old posts because I sound like a fucking idiot.<br /><br />It just meant so much to me. I was so touched, that she was sharing my words with people who were in a bit of a pickle (nobody ever ends up in rehab getting dropped off in a limo) ... I felt really, really honoured.<br /><br />Her name was Cherie and I eventually met her. She's beautiful inside and out. I thanked her, for doing what she did. She has her own blog - well, she HAD her own blog. Another blogger hounded off the internet. Because why? Sharing her life and taking photos of her kids and just writing stuff about what she thinks and feels? She has a beautiful husband and two children. She had a really hard start to life and man do I admire her so much for the way she turned out. But she was gossiped about, told her kid was ugly and snotty, some crap about her husband, accused of having a party JUST to blog about it. She started getting called a c*nt in her comments section. She had a whole thread dedicated to her on a website where people talk shit about other bloggers. When you have your own thread you have hit the big-time of hatedom. Every single little thing you say, write, instagram, tweet - gets mulled over and pulled to pieces and twisted apart.<br /><br />I've seen this happen to many bloggers. It gets too much so they stop blogging.<br /><br />There are bloggers out there who I cannot stand. Especially the materialistic, vain, self-obsessed ones. Not all people who blog are lovely people. They can be manipulative, mean, show-offs, complete arseholes. And if you're a blogger who starts to get a little bit of traction, a bit of attention and comments and people who connect with you? It's .... odd. It can play with your head. I went through it. I can't BELIEVE how my blog got "big." Thing about me is, I don't give a shit how many readers I have or my stats or what my next topic should be. I write when I feel like it - and jesus do I write some stuff here. I can't help it, I just write things that I should probably keep to myself like everybody else. I don't write for fame or glory and FUCK KNOWS I do not write for money. I tried that - total disaster. Greedy, greedy people. You can't monetise writing about a life like mine, it doesn't work. I haven't blogged half the stuff I've done in my life anyway. No way.<br /><br />So there's this whole bunch of people out there who write shit either in bloggers comments sections or on very public, very well-known websites. Who claim to just want bloggers to be "accountable." And you know what? A lot of what is said by these people is TRUE. Some bloggers have their head stuck so far up their arse they need a goddamn wrench to get it out.<br /><br />But a lot of this running commentary, this vicious hate spewed towards certain bloggers is UNDESERVED AND WRONG. Mean, spiteful, awful, vicious attacks on peoples children, families, lifestyles, weight, looks. It's getting worse. And it's hurting a lot of people. Long ago I stopped reading stuff people were writing about me because there was no point. I had no right of reply because if I did go in and defend myself - against blatant LIES about me and my family - I would just be annihilated further.<br /><br />So bloggers get told to have a thick skin, toughen up, "don't put it all out there if you don't want to be criticised." But if I had a thick skin, I wouldn't be able to reach my heart so easily.<br /><br />Why do I blog? Why on EARTH would I write the things I've written here? For you. No - not you, arseholes. For the silent people who will never comment. For the people who had shit go on in their lives and they see me still going so maybe they can too. I blog for fun, for stupidity, for having a laugh because god knows this life is hard to live. I have had emails from people who say that I've saved their lives, just for that one day. I've had emails from people who have seen the worst of humanity but want to thank me for being so honest. I've had gorgeous emails from people who have had near-perfect lives who read me and it makes them understand a bunch of stuff they never would have.<br /><br />Nothing is black and white. I like to think deeply and I like it when others think deeply too.<br /><br /><i>I keep blogging for all of the people who could never blog, never say out loud what they're feeling inside. </i>That makes me sound like a wanker - I am! I am a fucking idiot wanker but I'm going to keep writing anyway.<br /><br />Writing on this website has been one of the biggest gifts in my life because I found me. How stupid that sounds but it's true - I found myself. I wrote myself into existence over a period of eight years and here I am, doing a whole lot of things I never, ever would have done. I filmed a TV piece for World Vision last week and when I was saying goodbye to them I cried. Told them that they save millions of peoples lives all over the world ... and I'm pretty sure they have saved my life too. I got to see people and places and countries I NEVER would have seen. They trusted me enough to tell my stories about the work they do in my own words. ME - somebody who used to be a useless fuckup who NOBODY BELIEVED IN. At least until I got my shit together and started making something of myself. THEN I was worthy and accepted.<br /><br />Writing things out on this site has told me who I am and what I am doing in my life. I know its weird - I know! I have been WAY TOO OPEN - jesus I get embarrassed buying milk from the shop these days. I had a lineup of school mums wanted to talk to me about my Peaches overdose post when I picked Rocco up from school one day and though I have severe anxiety issues and actually do find it hard to talk to people - and I was MORTIFIED that the school mums knew "who I really was" ... they were lovely. Most of them found my piece through facebook and just wanted to chat.<br /><br />My friends get torn to shreds on some forums. By people who have no idea who they're actually tearing apart because mostly what you see on a blog is a persons sanitised view of themselves, right? Well, sometimes not. Sometimes people dare to be honest and open and heaven forbid even complain that life is a bit hard and BAM. HOW DARE THEY.<br /><br />I'm not perfect. I'm not always right. I can be an arrogant dickhead. But I'm allowed to write a website on the internet. I'm allowed to have a voice - and it's grown into a big one. Sorry. Sorry I write stuff that resonates. Sorry I got popular. Sorry I'm bold and brash and swear and speak my mind. SORRY!<br /><br />So here's the thing, the crux of this whole post that I never, ever wanted to write because I've never wanted to acknowledge the hate.<br /><br />I always know when I've been horribly written about somewhere because I either get texts saying <i>"Are you ok? Don't worry what they're saying!"</i> From well-meaning people. Or I get google alerts. Or people actually TELL me what's being said and I just don't want to know.<br /><br />I'm tough. I'm also very sensitive. I dare to be bold in a world where bold women are shut up very quickly. I can handle mean stuff being written about me - whatever.<br /><br />But a few weeks ago, something was written about me that absolutely shattered me. You people, who write your flippant words off the cuff, judging somebodies whole life in a sentence. You people have the power to really fuck a person up. And it fucked me up. Still has. Always will. Always. I will never forget what that person wrote about me on a stupid fucking forum. Thing is, I don't care what you write about me but I care that a whole bunch of other people are reading this shit thinking it's true. It's not. It's like being at school and there's this big billboard where people get written about daily and everybody in the school reads it but you can't because you know it's about you and you know it will probably hurt. And bloggers put themselves out there, it's our own fault, right?<br /><br />But to you - and I know you will read this post, whoever the fuck you are. When you wrote on a very widely-read internet forum that <i>"Eden can't have been that close to her brother because she didn't even know where he lived when he died."</i><br /><br />Yeah. That was a beauty. You got me GOOD. I was fucking devastated. I cried for days. Crying about it right now.<br /><br />There's a black notebook in my bookcase that my brother bought when he was house-hunting in September 2013 to find a flat to kill himself in. There's a lot of addresses in there - it took him a while to find a place! So he moved in. And did not tell ANYBODY where he lived - as if he would. He moved around a lot - he was only living in that place for a matter of weeks before he was gone forever so you're right, internet forum person. It's the truth, and that's what hurts the most - I didn't know where my brother was living when he killed himself.<br /><br />I begged him to tell me his address. I rang his friends, knowing he would be SO pissed off that I rang his friends. I told my therapist and case worker and shrink at the time - I think my brother is going to kill himself and he won't tell me where he lives. They were giving me so much advice. If I knew where he lived I would have gotten him committed because somebody told me he HAD something in his flat to do it. I told his friends that too but Cam - man he was a smooth talker.<br /><br />I would have gotten him committed and he would have got out and he would have killed himself anyway. But at least I would have known that I did EVERYTHING I could to try stop it. I have to live with this for the rest of my life. His death has almost completely destroyed me and it was only until last week when my friend Megan said:<br /><br /><i>"Eden, you're going to hate me for saying this but it's time you stop pulling the scab off your grief for Cam." Wow. </i>She was right. And she was allowed to say that to me because her brother killed himself too so she knows her shit.<br /><br />So I'm trying. It feels like there's a lot of people waiting with popcorn for me to implode or fuck up or really mess up.<br /><br />Fuck you. Fuck you for writing shit about me that isn't true but the people who read it might think it is. Fuck you for fucking with my head. Fuck you for making me feel the lowest I have felt in a very, very long time. I asked my therapist - why would people write such things? And he said that some of you probably will never experience the extreme, unconditional depth of love I have for my brother. So you don't understand, can't even comprehend my words. You just pass judgement.<br /><br />I used to hold that tiny baby so tight, many many moons ago. And he grew up bigger and taller and more beautiful than I can imagine and he couldn't deal with his issues <i>because he didn't even know what they were. Generations of bullshit, all twisted inside his heart that he couldn't articulate.</i> He thought there was something wrong with HIM. There wasn't. There's something wrong with the world.<br /><br />Congratulations, internet forum person. You hurt me very, very deeply. I would have done anything to save my brother. Sometimes I feel like I murdered him but I didn't turn the gas on, he did. His decision. He's gone. And every day is a day further from seeing his face and remembering all the potential he had. The fucking arsehole.<br /><br />So. This was longer than I thought I would write. I just wanted to address it - this goes beyond online bullying. I don't want or need to know what is being said about me anymore so please don't tell me. I can't handle it. It almost brought me undone and if you people keep going the way you are? You WILL bring somebody undone.<br /><br />And their blood will be on your hands. Because sometimes words are so powerful, they can kill a person.<br /><br /><br /></div>eden rileyhttps://plus.google.com/105919584625347453034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6058023473483958257.post-79623898158505631652015-02-18T13:04:00.001+11:002015-02-18T13:04:56.739+11:00A Leopard Cannot Change Its Spots.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://tinypic.com/?ref=r2uy9s" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Image and video hosting by TinyPic" border="0" src="http://i57.tinypic.com/r2uy9s.jpg" height="400" width="301" /></a></div><br />Crappy day. Currently stealth-eating a piece of coconut jam slice in the library - no Megan there is not ONE crumb.<br /><br />Just wanted to let you know I wrote <a href="http://thehoopla.com.au/name-eden-addict/">quite a personal piece for The Hoopla</a> today about the imminent executions of two Australians in Indonesia - Andrew and Myuran. Can you pronounce Myurans' name correctly? It hasn't been said much on the news for the past ten years.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://tinypic.com/?ref=wtejw8" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Image and video hosting by TinyPic" border="0" src="http://i59.tinypic.com/wtejw8.jpg" height="400" width="315" /></a></div><br />It's a bit exposing but MAN I feel for those guys. A whole lot. Anyway I'm late for class, gotta go, almost at the bridge.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />&nbsp; </div>eden rileyhttps://plus.google.com/105919584625347453034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6058023473483958257.post-83341078002276581162015-02-15T21:28:00.003+11:002015-02-15T23:03:03.597+11:00Why I Can't Award The Winner $1000 For The Lip Synch Awards - UPDATED!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><i>UPDATED - contact has been made! She is ok! She is still alive! I was so worried! I'm going to get her address from her mum. Oh my god I'm so relived.</i><br /><br />::<br /><br />Because I don't know where she is, where she lives, or even if she's ok.<br /><br />It's a young, beautiful girl who sent me a lip-synch for <a href="http://www.edenriley.com/2014/10/the-first-annual-international-lip.html">the awards I announced back on October 15th.</a><br /><br />Just twelve years old, she introduced herself, smiled shyly and laughed to me on a private You Tube sent through to me by her adoring mum who is doing everything she can to keep her daughter alive on a daily basis.<br /><br />The pull of the dark is strong, even in the young. I understand her pain and struggle and all the things she's been "diagnosed" with. People like her were the whole reason I set up the competition in the first place ... to let yourself go, be a bit free, who cares what people thinks of you in this stupid world.<br /><br />Her pain touched my heart and the fact that she still gets up every day and faces the world gives me hope. I've tried hard for months to track her and her mum down and I am a private detective. Futile. To no avail.<br /><br />I'd like to thank everybody who entered these awards, every single entry meant so much. Thank you for having fun, for honouring my brother. You made me laugh, you made me cry, you gave me hope and you gave yourselves joy. I saw it in your eyes when you let go.<br /><br />Just this week I learnt that the answer to almost all of our problems is just simple human connection. That's all.<br /><br />So here is the original song my beautiful young winner lip-synched to - so beautifully. And so bravely.<br /><br />It's a bloody awesome song.<br /><br /><br /></div><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/cqqqV50zaAc" width="560"></iframe><br /><br />So beautiful girl who I hope is still alive ... you won! Congratulations! And I can't find you ... so what to do?<br /><br />Five minutes ago I donated your prize money of $1000 on behalf of my brother Cam to <a href="http://foundation18.org/">Foundation 18</a>, an orphanage in Indonesia set up by my friend Cate Bolt to keep young girls out of prostitution and give them the childhood they deserve. So many of us were robbed of the childhood we deserved - children of all colours. Some overcome it. Some can't. Some go on to become a shining light for others, lead the way for those behind. Some become sad case stories.<br /><br />Thank you for entering my competition, you precious girl. I used to lip synch to songs when I was at your age too, but only by myself, clutching my tape recorder. And I certainly never showed anybody WAY too shy. Thanks for letting me in, even though it was a brief minute.<br /><br />I wish you could see yourself as the Universe sees you.<br /><br />xx<br /><br />PS <a href="http://catherinebolt.com/">Cate</a> there was nowhere to write who the donation was from. It's from Cam Dogs Estate hi my brother killed himself have some money. He was the most beautiful, caring, funny, gorgeous guy who you'll never get the privilege to meet. It makes me happy that he's helped out your girls. x<br /><br />PPS You should totally donate to <a href="http://foundation18.org/">Foundation 18</a>&nbsp;too. In Cams name. It'd make me happy. It'd turn something awful into something beautiful.<br /><br /><br /></div>eden rileyhttps://plus.google.com/105919584625347453034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6058023473483958257.post-14115430304485420262015-02-13T14:01:00.003+11:002015-02-13T14:01:45.210+11:00Edenland Channel - The Orphaned Washing Machine.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Yeah so I had to upload this whole thing on my crappy portable wi-fi. It's taken hours, all while waiting for the Telstra guy to come and he never came. For the second appointment in a row I've been here waiting between the hours of 9-1 waiting for a fictional imaginary internet set-up person who I no longer believe in any more. I'll write "fully-fledged Telstra Atheist" on my next census form. The guy at the help desk was furious on my behalf and really embarrassed and really, who cares that poor Eden has to wait for internet&nbsp;such an inconvenience *violin emoticon*<br /><br />It just means there's no special graphics or proper news music at the end but who cares.&nbsp;It's not even proper news! But it DOES involve singing. (Even though Aimee sings waaaaay better than me.)<br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/s91MbFAn8ks" width="420"></iframe> <i><br /></i><i>And one last ditch attempt to try and find the winner of the <a href="http://www.edenriley.com/2014/10/the-first-annual-international-lip.html">Lip Synch Awards</a> - I cannot track you down! And I'm a private detective who is now really worried because I always think the worst. So could the mother of the beautiful girl who sent me the private YouTube vid which has since been taken down please please email me - your beautiful girl won. I will not name her or publish the video I just want to know she's ok! You sent me a really long email describing her and there she was, describing herself to me. She's twelve. She's beautiful. Her name begins with G.&nbsp;</i><br /><i><br /></i><i>Please email me on edenriley@gmail.com</i><br /><br />Now try have a fairly decent weekend, ok you guys? #icing<br /><br /></div>eden rileyhttps://plus.google.com/105919584625347453034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6058023473483958257.post-21108119735354354672015-02-10T08:30:00.001+11:002015-02-10T08:30:17.195+11:00Takes Commitment!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">The best thing happened. Me and Rocco pulled into the servo for some petrol and ice blocks and immediately came face-to-face with this Wicked Camper van that had ALREADY been altered.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uvwRIS6ysbs/VNkY7c7CnTI/AAAAAAAALdQ/WGVGJbuUm40/s1600/photo-82.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uvwRIS6ysbs/VNkY7c7CnTI/AAAAAAAALdQ/WGVGJbuUm40/s1600/photo-82.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><br />Commitment. Hmmm. I channelled Carrie Mathison from Homeland (I purposely pick shows that contain strong female characters so I can channel them irl what isn't that what everyone does?) and took a stealth photo of it before I approached the people sitting in the van. Knocked on their window. Rocco's like, <i>"Mum, what are you DOING?" </i>And I said I just need to ask these people a question.<br /><br />They were two girls in their early twenties, British, absolutely lovely. I asked them if they hired the van like that or if they'd altered it themselves.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.edenriley.com/2015/01/the-edenland-news-channel-wicked-revenge.html">(I have a thing</a> about seeing these revolting vans and now carry a can of black spray with me in my car wherever I go - because there's a lot of tourists with rentals up here in the Blue Mountains.)<br /><br />The girls laughed and said they altered it themselves with black tape. That they'd asked Wicked Vans specifically for a non-offensive van but were given this one anyway. I told them about my can of black spray and they LAUGHED .. and I told them that following quite a community outrage in a few states the owner of the company John Webb apologised and had said that all offensive vans would be "phased out" within six months. I asked them what the van originally said.<br /><br /><i>"Oh it wasn't really too offensive but we just didn't like it. It said "Addiction takes commitment."</i><br /><i><br /></i>My blood boiled. I told them to have a great time in the mountains and we said goodbye and I wondered to myself, if I had seen that van unaltered there would have been nothing &nbsp;I could do - you probably can't really spray paint a van at a crowded petrol station, what with all the chemicals. There are much, much worse slogans painted on these vans but this one I took personally. Because addiction DOES take commitment - you've got to lose your job, your friends, sleep in strangers houses, do things you would never have dreamed of doing back when you were an innocent kid at school. It's like when I see people wearing t-shirts saying <i>"Rehab is for quitters!"</i> And I want to ask them well, yes it is, what's your point?<br /><br />Addiction destroys families, lives, children of addicts suffer so badly but you know what takes bigger commitment? Recovery. Regularly doing meetings, putting down drink and drugs, facing yourself, your family and what you've done ... moving forward on just pure faith at the beginning after relying on substances to face the day. Getting clean takes immense commitment. So does standing up for issues that you believe in.<br /><br />This is Paula. Her site is <a href="http://questionsforus.com/">"Questions for Us."</a> Paula is a school teacher who started the 110,000-strong change.org petition against Wicked Campers and she's shown quite some commitment in raising awareness not just about these vans but other stuff too - stuff that we see around us and think, <i>"Wow, somebody would really do something about that."</i> Well, me and Paula ... and quite a few other people ... are the someones. We haven't met each other in the flesh yet but we will, to discuss phase two of our operation.<br /><br />See this charming van?<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HUudjimPbN4/VNkd26NoH1I/AAAAAAAALdg/JFCPoyx_Vvw/s1600/gaffa%2Btape.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HUudjimPbN4/VNkd26NoH1I/AAAAAAAALdg/JFCPoyx_Vvw/s1600/gaffa%2Btape.jpg" height="303" width="400" /></a></div><br />I put it on my Facebook page and while mostly people were as disgusted as me, some people told me to lighten up, <i>"there's more things to worry about in the world than some van company" </i>and they're just meant to be funny. Of course there's more things in the world to worry about then some van company. But this van company has really pissed me off.<br /><br />Paula joined in the discussion and informed everyone that that van was painted as a direct result of Hoopla editor Lucy Clark writing&nbsp;<a href="http://thehoopla.com.au/wicked-think/">this piece</a> about the vans. It was only then I realised the <i>"Dear Lucy"</i> above. WOW - a direct sexually violent threat to a female journalist in response to a piece she wrote on a very well respected news website.<br /><br />Wow.<br /><br />It's said that when you're parenting teenagers you have to pick your battles. My battle with Wicked Campers has only started, and it all began from the innocent voice of my six-year old son reading aloud the words <i>"If anal sex hurts, you're doing it wrong."</i> Then he asked me what anal sex was. Then I was at war with this disgusting company and their filthy values. Some people say it's all a clever marketing ploy to get their name up there and they've certainly done that! But it's not just the vans - it's the people who hire out these vans, the people who read these vans and do nothing .... surely John Webb is breaking some kind of obscenity laws? Somebody should do something about that.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zadl1FxQIFQ/VNkgbbL5GxI/AAAAAAAALds/e6vlCyqb5Mc/s1600/johnwebb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zadl1FxQIFQ/VNkgbbL5GxI/AAAAAAAALds/e6vlCyqb5Mc/s1600/johnwebb.jpg" height="272" width="400" /></a></div><br />So hi John Webb. My name is Eden and even though I got a lot of stuff happening in my life right now - I'm doing something about that.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dlvMGNZH9Ao/VNkhy1H4HXI/AAAAAAAALd4/Y-5fDtSftpw/s1600/hurricanes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dlvMGNZH9Ao/VNkhy1H4HXI/AAAAAAAALd4/Y-5fDtSftpw/s1600/hurricanes.jpg" height="640" width="435" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iObZrq1wBY8/VNkh0gw-C_I/AAAAAAAALeA/uSqcepNqqMg/s1600/blow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iObZrq1wBY8/VNkh0gw-C_I/AAAAAAAALeA/uSqcepNqqMg/s1600/blow.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JDyu95JWdxc/VNkh2uTNPeI/AAAAAAAALeI/7HS-tNEhF7A/s1600/husband.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JDyu95JWdxc/VNkh2uTNPeI/AAAAAAAALeI/7HS-tNEhF7A/s1600/husband.jpg" height="395" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /></div><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/m321kqeynSU" width="560"></iframe><br /><br /><i>(The only thing I apologise for about this video is calling backpackers stinky - that's stereotypical and wrong, sorry guys. I've got man glands so I'm probably more stinky than you.)</i><br /><br />Then of course, the inevitable You Tube comments came rolling in:<br /><br /><i>ricardo bellos: "get a life you stupid mole so much for freedom of expression..your being close minded an its art form you may not like but art is meant to be controversial.. "</i><br /><i><br /></i>You Tube comments belong on a planet all to themselves. Anyway, gotta go, stuff to do, takes commitment to live my life these days.<br /><br />See you soon John.<br /><br /></div>eden rileyhttps://plus.google.com/105919584625347453034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6058023473483958257.post-89291826022968308082015-02-08T13:58:00.000+11:002015-02-08T14:11:31.525+11:00Running With The Wolves<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I unpacked all of my books and set up my bookcase and all this magic poured out.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fZyTdHprEsM/VNa1yeeumdI/AAAAAAAALcc/c3_lxk6UBJA/s1600/photo-78.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fZyTdHprEsM/VNa1yeeumdI/AAAAAAAALcc/c3_lxk6UBJA/s1600/photo-78.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><br />I set up my favourite Skyway Restaurant desk and wrote the first chapter of my memoir. It's probably shit and will never see the light of day in the final edit. But that's ok.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IO_Lvcj0ckM/VNa1wiZzf0I/AAAAAAAALcM/Faa_in2IlaI/s1600/photo-76.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IO_Lvcj0ckM/VNa1wiZzf0I/AAAAAAAALcM/Faa_in2IlaI/s1600/photo-76.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>There's so many different ways to write it. I could write twenty memoirs using different words but the essence would all be the same. I've never been so ready. See that Joy Division postcard? I bought it when I was nineteen - Love Will Tear Us Apart. I had no idea what that meant but I sure do now. The glass broke and the frame is long gone but it's still stuck there, still true. I've always been intuitive, always felt things years before I understood them.<br /><br />Here's a photo of me writing my memoir:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_mmQKxbgOSk/VNa4WNYGsHI/AAAAAAAALc8/fqWTnG_lths/s1600/photo-81.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_mmQKxbgOSk/VNa4WNYGsHI/AAAAAAAALc8/fqWTnG_lths/s1600/photo-81.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><br />I bought that card a few years ago from the local Catholic shop that I hate. It makes me cranky. Don't even know who this guy is but I like him. I took Max into that shop once to buy him some rosary beads which weren't cheap and by the time we got home the cross had fallen off. So I took them back the next day but the lady wouldn't let me replace them, said it was my fault. Oh, Catholicism! Always with the guilt! I told her I'd never be back and I haven't. One of the richest corporations in the world couldn't replace a cross for a small boy. I hate what being brought up Catholic has done to me. Weeks later I found that cross wedged in the back seat of the car but I threw it away. I'd already given Max an Angel card from a different place by then and Lord Himself knows we all got too many crosses to bear anyway.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--k7jqcBEYEE/VNa1xHFN2vI/AAAAAAAALcQ/KVIYMLh6G-M/s1600/photo-77.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--k7jqcBEYEE/VNa1xHFN2vI/AAAAAAAALcQ/KVIYMLh6G-M/s1600/photo-77.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div><br />I found a rare photo of my brother Cam and my baby Max together one christmas. Straight after I took that photo Cam made Max laugh and Max threw his head back and it hit the table. He cried so hard! Cam felt SO bad, I said <i>"Mate, it's fine, don't worry! He's ok!"</i> Cam used to come and visit me when I was pregnant with Max and he was still in high school. We talked so much, about everything. I keep looking back like a forensic scientist, understanding things and putting his suicide pieces together. It's been the most extraordinarily hardest thing I've ever had to live through in my life and I've spent all of this weekend crying a river so high that I was able to sail away in a little boat and keep moving, keep going. Tears make you stronger.<br /><br />It's difficult to believe in a world my brother didn't believe in anymore. It's conflicting when I get moments of hope. And now, suddenly, everything has come together in a huge crescendo and I'm reaping the rewards of all the hard work I've been doing these past few years, looking inside myself, dismantling everything.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7MV7SWIMGDM/VNa3ykWnryI/AAAAAAAALc0/YSE8j9cVxWk/s1600/photo.PNG-14.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7MV7SWIMGDM/VNa3ykWnryI/AAAAAAAALc0/YSE8j9cVxWk/s1600/photo.PNG-14.jpeg" height="333" width="400" /></a></div><br />I used to be many things. And yet here I sit on a back deck of a new house looking at trees and sobbing from gratitude, from understanding, from the realisation that I'm more powerful than I could have ever imagined. Against all the odds.<br /><br />I thanked whoever the fuck it is who has been watching over me for my entire life. When you don't receive the love you need early on, you can get it from other places, mystical places. Keep walking through that fire - don't stop. And you'll arrive at a place you've never been to before.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--jMA9S_fGTs/VNa1ziQya4I/AAAAAAAALcg/ecArBbeo3DI/s1600/photo-79.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--jMA9S_fGTs/VNa1ziQya4I/AAAAAAAALcg/ecArBbeo3DI/s1600/photo-79.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div><br />I said to whoever the fuck it is who has been watching over me for my entire life,<br /><br /><i>"You gave me a boy to love. And then you took him away."</i><br /><br />I know that's not true but it felt good to say it anyway. My brother was a grown man who made his own choices and doesn't life deal us some crappy cards? Sometimes I get angry at Cam. <i>"I had two dead dads you only had ONE. You are supposed to still BE HERE."</i> Mostly I just tell him I love him and I'm sorry and I need him. Over and over I tell him that. Life doesn't get handed to us on a bounteous platter. You gotta eat a lot of shit sandwiches to get to where you need to be. There's so many wars in the world and on the "news" but the biggest wars are silently being waged in our own hearts. You can numb it, or run from it, go the ignore, fill it up with other stuff. But if you don't wake up while you're alive then you'll die sleeping. So many of us lose our way.<br /><br />This is the strongest and truest I've ever been and I'm just sitting on a chair on a Sunday, looking at the trees. Just being. Understanding so many different things all at once. I'm not done yet. I got shit to do, poems to slam, kids to raise and bills to pay. I've always had this theory that when somebody you love dies, they'll watch out for you and give you strength. I could be wrong but I'm pretty sure my brother is giving me all the strength and love and power to me now, all the stuff he couldn't feel or do when he was alive. He wanted me to keep going. He banked on it. He knew I had kids and couldn't follow him. Fucker. Everything I do from now on in my life I will do for and because of the both of us. He saved me in my childhood and I couldn't save him in his adulthood but that was not my job. It was his. One day I might believe that. I'm still very far from forgiving myself about his death and I'll carry my sadness like a cross for the rest of my days, a cross so big it could never be wedged in the back seat of a car. So I'll need to be strong.<br /><br />Have you ever re-evaluated your entire self and made huge decisions based purely on instinct, intuition, a knowing that you're on the right path? Yes? No? It feels absolutely extraordinary and though it's full of pain and tears, you're suddenly on the other side looking at things with a completely different set of eyeballs as if the actual Creator of this whole stupid shebang switched them out of the sockets of your skull while you were asleep. To wake you up.<br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/I7ts6E8293w" width="560"></iframe> <br /><i>"Write.</i><br /><i>What you know</i><br /><i>and let your feelings show.</i><br /><i>Be who you are and give all that you've got</i><br /><i>It's easy and as hard as this</i><br /><i>Though you try to resist</i><br /><i><br /></i><i>It's just the way of this world</i><br /><i>Let it be your oyster, your pearl</i><br /><i>Make you an honest girl</i><br /><i>Let it be your oyster, your pearl."</i><br /><i><br /></i><i>- Sarah Blasko</i><br /><br /><br /></div>eden rileyhttps://plus.google.com/105919584625347453034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6058023473483958257.post-747674584588040712015-02-05T08:51:00.003+11:002015-02-05T08:51:45.698+11:00Now I Know Why I Love Skulls So Much<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">So many people have asked me why I get tattoos of skulls and I always stammer and say, <i>"Um, because I just like them?"</i> And feel like an idiot. I feel like an idiot 95.7% of my life.<br /><br />But suddenly now I know why - skulls can't hide anything. They're real as fuck, just bones and a jaw and teeth and sunken eyes. Naked. Bare. There's no secrets with skulls.<br /><br />We are all doing ok, over here! I love my husband Dave - so much. I love him so much that I left him because let's face it, how much would it suck to live with me? A helluva lot and I should know, I live with me 24/7. It blows. My brain has fallen onto hard times. My &nbsp;mental decline has been sure and steady - diagnosed with this, being treated for that. And then UNDIAGNOSED with Bipolar. I take medication - but I've recently, painfully learnt that medication only helps so much. You still gotta live with your shit. Owie.<br /><br />Thing is, exactly a year ago I was in hospital (AGAIN) but 12 months later I'm sitting in a classroom with a whole heap of other people whose common bond is they want to HELP other people and I don't even know how I got there. We've already talked about Australian government policies, aged care, mental health funding, drug and alcohol facilities, difficulties facing parents, youth work, suicide. And I've just sat there soaking it all in thinking <i>"Holy shit I really need to be doing this right now."</i>&nbsp;Nobody knows a thing about me. My brother Cam paid for the entire course and it wasn't cheap. I'm not on Centrelink payments - used to be for many years, and they kept me alive and I'm very grateful, but it's my turn to give back.<br /><br />On the day of enrolment I walked outside the campus I spoke to Cam like I always do and said, <i>"Well bro, I have no idea what I'm doing but thank you for helping me."</i><br /><br />And as for packing up all of my stuff and finding a new house and leaving my family home? Yeah that was a pretty painful day. But I knew I was doing the right thing. I have apologised to Dave so many times, for being so broken after Cam died. It can't be helped. You love someone that hard, you're a massive goner after they die.<br /><br />But I didn't die - still here, still loving all of my family just as much. It's impossible to sum up fifteen years of a relationship into a few paragraphs on a blog my GOD we've had some times! But it's so relieving to have space, for me as much as him. Because of my policy of (mostly) not talking shit about people on my blog, Dave has become somewhat of this incredible gorious human. Which of course he is - for years I've teased him. <i>"Yeah, you're SAINT DAVE on my blog." </i>But of course - he has his own issues, his own stuff, he's not a picnic to live with sometimes either. <i>He even has faults</i> and does shitty things and can be a real arsehole but I've never written about all that. There's certain mechanisms at play, same as in any marriage. I told him recently <i>"Hon, it was like living in a tsunami. I can breathe now!"</i> And he laughed and said he never wanted to be a tsunami. We don't which way the wind blows, but our dedication to our kids is rock solid which is all that matters for the moment.<br /><br />I've purposely left the same photo of all of us at the beach on both fridges in both houses, told the boys no mater who lives where we are ALWAYS family. And everything will be ok.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DB5LeXKlofU/VNKRlnVR2kI/AAAAAAAALbw/erOCII2yZKg/s1600/photo-75.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DB5LeXKlofU/VNKRlnVR2kI/AAAAAAAALbw/erOCII2yZKg/s1600/photo-75.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br />I will always love him, he will always love me, and this break is so necessary and only I could do it. Fifteen years ago he was builder Dave wearing overalls and I had more money than him, working at a cafe in Katoomba Street saving up to go to Scotland. Then I accidentally made this incredible family and all this stuff happened and now we're here. I look back and think - <i>what happened, when did it start going wrong?</i> His cancer? My mental health? The fighting? Jim died, then Cam died, and then I just brokeded all up and barely hung on.<br /><br />But I hung on, like a barnacle. my new house is bright and airy and can you believe I broke my favourite cup!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BexN5P5GM0Y/VNKSQQlmkoI/AAAAAAAALb4/00tqVfcRvoo/s1600/IMG_4651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BexN5P5GM0Y/VNKSQQlmkoI/AAAAAAAALb4/00tqVfcRvoo/s1600/IMG_4651.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><br />It just kind of disintegrated right in front of me. I had a funny feeling when I bought that cup and I had a funny feeling when it broke - not sadness. Everything ends. Love doesn't end and this will always be a love story regardless what happens but my cup broke, man. It finished. nothing lasts forever. It served its purpose, it was a joy to drink out of, and now it's gone.<br /><br />I'm not replacing that cup. There was only ever one like it in the whole world. But I keep a shard of it on my windowsill, to remind me of how beautiful it was to drink out of.<br /><br /><br /></div>eden rileyhttps://plus.google.com/105919584625347453034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6058023473483958257.post-72899150730844512032015-02-02T09:56:00.001+11:002015-02-02T09:56:47.100+11:00Fearlessly.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-h32FRsPLIJQ/VM6mZGUNfLI/AAAAAAAALbY/NmRgT2QTICQ/s1600/IMG_4362.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-h32FRsPLIJQ/VM6mZGUNfLI/AAAAAAAALbY/NmRgT2QTICQ/s1600/IMG_4362.JPG" height="396" width="400" /></a></div><br />This morning for the very first time I made Rocco warm milk with his rice bubbles, told him if he didn't like it he didn't have to eat it but when I was little one of my aunties used to make it for me and it was the BEST.<br /><br />He loved it - ate two bowls.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RJiOj5VH93o/VM6lj8jdOjI/AAAAAAAALbM/BJrCcMQT-EM/s1600/IMG_4777.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RJiOj5VH93o/VM6lj8jdOjI/AAAAAAAALbM/BJrCcMQT-EM/s1600/IMG_4777.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div><br />Dave and I separated a few months ago. I moved out and found a place of my own, decked the boys rooms out first-thing because they come first. Always will. My room is still a wreck.. but here's the top of my cupboard.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7UDIi-PVr5c/VM6lLDRyqGI/AAAAAAAALag/V1cI6XJOG3k/s1600/IMG_4674.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7UDIi-PVr5c/VM6lLDRyqGI/AAAAAAAALag/V1cI6XJOG3k/s1600/IMG_4674.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div><br />Max started year eight last week. YEAR EIGHT.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T4hvj18QPSM/VM6ldPS0dWI/AAAAAAAALbA/8R3UnYhwIbQ/s1600/IMG_4759.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T4hvj18QPSM/VM6ldPS0dWI/AAAAAAAALbA/8R3UnYhwIbQ/s1600/IMG_4759.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div><br />They are both going ok - pretty well, actually. I told Roccos teacher this morning and she thanked me, because at the moment they're talking about families in class and who lives with who. I tell my boys it doesn't matter who lives in what house - that we will all always be a family, and when you're with your family, you are home. I never really bought any parenting books, just do it instinctively. Look them in the eyes, answer their questions, listen to them. Yell at them when needed. Hug them a whole lot. Rocco and I have had lots of sleepovers in each others rooms.<br /><br />I seen a lot of stuff in my life so far. If this is the worst thing happening in my sons lives right now, then that's ok. They are safe, and loved, adored.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xqqkv99c5BU/VM6lXp7YDzI/AAAAAAAALaw/zdmxVyD5kFE/s1600/IMG_4673.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xqqkv99c5BU/VM6lXp7YDzI/AAAAAAAALaw/zdmxVyD5kFE/s1600/IMG_4673.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div><br />It's amazing what a fresh coat of paint, a cool doona cover, good friends, and some zombie posters can do for a guy.<br /><br />I bought this container of wooden pieces for Rocco for christmas it is SO GOOD. You can make anything. You can make anything from anything. You don't need much.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bePWMbyz6V0/VM6lZQZlwBI/AAAAAAAALa4/lrmqpTqjshk/s1600/IMG_4710.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bePWMbyz6V0/VM6lZQZlwBI/AAAAAAAALa4/lrmqpTqjshk/s1600/IMG_4710.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZsLM7t6pPcM/VM6lja6ZYPI/AAAAAAAALbI/Y8lFWV-5EfI/s1600/IMG_4715.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZsLM7t6pPcM/VM6lja6ZYPI/AAAAAAAALbI/Y8lFWV-5EfI/s1600/IMG_4715.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div><br />I made a chicken - originally with four legs. Rocco took one look and laughed and laughed SO HARD. <i>"MUM A CHICKEN HAS TWO LEGS!" </i>And I was all, really??!<br /><br />I'll never stop learning. I've already started back at college to do a Diploma in Community Work. The exact same one I started sixteen years ago before I got married and had babies. I might end up being a cranky old grassroots activist with purple hair chaining myself to stuff. I might even specialise in youthwork. Because who else is more qualified to help kids than a slightly middle-aged woman with tattoos and a lot of stories? Who else can teach them the power of writing, crafting a slam poem, believing in themselves? There's a lot of Cams out there. I'd love to maybe help steer a few in a different direction. Maybe not but at least I tried. When I was a girl and people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I'd answer <i>"A pop singer and give all my money to charity."</i> (Obviously I wanted the glory but didn't care so much about the money.)<br /><br />I've always wanted to help people, which is funny because I also really am a massive arsehole. Bono says the best place to be is right in the middle of a contradiction. Sometimes I wish I didn't care so much.<br /><br />I'm not even supposed to be here.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yiUh0Rb0GcA/VM6lRg6HCDI/AAAAAAAALao/Uhj6pPy3k2w/s1600/IMG_4667.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yiUh0Rb0GcA/VM6lRg6HCDI/AAAAAAAALao/Uhj6pPy3k2w/s1600/IMG_4667.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div><br />The view from my new kitchen makes me happy. Needed to buy some new music to see me through this particular patch of my life so the album "I Awake" by Sarah Blasko it is.<br /><br />I'm ok. Even when I'm not - I am.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/LD137cd7Cw0" width="560"></iframe><br /><br /><br /></div>eden rileyhttps://plus.google.com/105919584625347453034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6058023473483958257.post-65752966297665082342015-01-30T19:16:00.002+11:002015-01-30T19:16:51.083+11:00The Edenland News - All These Feminine Hygiene Products But There's No Sweaty Ballsack Spray?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ARgA-YLNDDs" width="560"></iframe></div>eden rileyhttps://plus.google.com/105919584625347453034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6058023473483958257.post-5495952231883984542015-01-23T21:30:00.001+11:002015-01-23T21:30:21.987+11:00It's The Edenland News - STRAYA DAY! (And A Little Girl Named Aimee.)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/ekyV7TUpJFc" width="560"></iframe><br /><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /><br />This news episode is mostly about STRAYA DAY! #GETITINDAYA<br /><br />Please watch to the end .. the other day I was at my friend Naomi's house eating cake and suddenly her daughter Aimee appeared and busted out <i>"Don't Rain On My Parade"</i> JUST FOR ME and I got goosebumps and cried. We had Funny Girl on laser disc when I was a kid and I watched it so, so many times.<br /><br />Aimee debuts at the end of the video - so you can say you knew her before she became famous. <i>Isn't she incredible!</i><br /><i><br /></i>Oh and PS I hope I don't offend anyone. Or do I? Maybe some people need to be offended?<br /><i><br /></i></div></div>eden rileyhttps://plus.google.com/105919584625347453034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6058023473483958257.post-29076733759631935962015-01-21T10:33:00.001+11:002015-01-21T10:33:38.233+11:00Babies Know The Secrets Of The Entire Universe! (Until They Grow Up And Forget Them All.)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I had the utter privilege of spending Christmas with a family who have lost one of their people to suicide. My friend <a href="http://childrensbooksdaily.com/">Megan</a> invited me and my two boys over to her parents house in Brisbane and even though I felt like a TOTAL ring-in, they all opened their hearts and coffee machine and presents and presence with me. I felt so at home, so grateful, and a really, really strong sense of kinship. I am completely in love with Megan and all of her family, especially her parents. Her dad Geoff - just wow. Much more on him later but one of the first things I ever said to him was, <i>"Hey I've never had a stepdad called Geoff before!" </i>He is a Professor - so smart, so kind, so obliging, SO BEAUTIFUL. And Megans mum. We had a big chat, on the couch, about a lot of big things straight up.<br /><br />You know when you find people and you can just cut straight through the bullshit? That. Megan contacted me almost three years ago after her beautiful, strong, naughty, gorgeous brother Simon died. She googled "suicide" "death" "grief" and other certain dark keywords and BAM! Up came my blog! She told me she read it for hours and hours, that awful night when she found out. I'll never forget reading her first email to me - it was about 10.30pm and I was having a really bad day (what a surprise!) and I keeled over and cried, I felt so much pain for this woman and the hell her family were going through right then. My bad day slipped away. They were having the worst day of their lives.<br /><br />We always have bad days - as well as good - but some days, we call them the worst days of our lives. I've had many. I could probably stage my own Bad Day Olympics and win a lot of medals in a lot of the events. So Megan and I kept in contact and then, well .... my brother took himself away too. And Megan told me later her heart broke into tiny, teeny pieces for me. And she emailed me so many times and often I didn't respond because it was so hard to just get out of bed and stay upright for my boys. BUT SHE KEPT EMAILING. And then, we met in the flesh at Problogger and the very first time we met? I was CRYING because the guy at the front desk at the hotel reception was being mean to me and I was surrounded by bloggers and I was so overwhelmed and I asked Megan to come up to my hotel room and I was just LOSING IT crying and I do not do that in front of people, I just do not.<br /><br />But I did with her. And I didn't care about the whole conference I just text and talked and talked with her. And I went through every email she ever sent me and replied back to them all, one night at the conference and she called me crazy and I said, of course I am! And thanked her for continuing to email me, even when it was too hard for me to reply.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ay3_Wjj_K58/VL7TY3_ZapI/AAAAAAAALWs/lMM93AY6Kcg/s1600/photo.PNG-11.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ay3_Wjj_K58/VL7TY3_ZapI/AAAAAAAALWs/lMM93AY6Kcg/s1600/photo.PNG-11.jpeg" height="400" width="356" /></a></div><i>Christmas day ... coffees lovingly made by my new stepdad Geoff. Megan has a pink strip in her hair. She's head librarian at an exclusive girls school. She's all colours of awesome and contradictions and humanness and pain.</i><br /><br />We send video messages to each other almost every day. Sometimes funny. Sometimes sad. Sometimes I've CRIED in them. We both are not into making new friends - at all. It's hilarious. We went shopping one day and there was ten minutes left of this pop-up shop sale in this amazing Moroccan place that was owned by a brother and sister. As soon as we found this out, Megan and I just both looked at them and sighed.<br /><br /><i>"Ohhhh, that's so nice. Both of our brothers are dead. Suicide."</i><br /><br />(I'm pretty sure I said that.) But Megan piped in with <i>"It's just so nice to see - a brother and sister working together." </i>And the people behind the counter were shocked, a little horrified, and stumbled their words out and I apologised and as we walked out of the shop we just started laughing SO HARD.<br /><br /><i>"WE ARE SUCH WEIRDOS."</i><br /><br />Because who tells people that, right? You're supposed to make sure your mask doesn't slip, out there in society. Megan and I have some of the most dark, awful, beautiful, hopeful, mad conversations.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OWX07X2AMe4/VL7TYwDL6EI/AAAAAAAALWo/uYiN2w_UKcM/s1600/photo.PNG-10.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OWX07X2AMe4/VL7TYwDL6EI/AAAAAAAALWo/uYiN2w_UKcM/s1600/photo.PNG-10.jpeg" height="400" width="246" /></a></div><i>She's going to kill me for posting this but I just love it so much. She was in the middle of sending me a video message but her beautiful Pud wanted her mango cut IMMEDIATELY so Megan had to stop talking about heavy stuff and held the mango to her temple for a while until she said goodbye.</i><br /><i><br /></i>Anyway this post isn't about all of that - well it kind of is. This post is about the brand new baby I got to hold on Christmas day - my biggest gift. All you need to know about the baby is that he's a boy. And that he belongs in the very close-knit circle of Megans family. He was just seven days old, and brand new in the world. And I got to hold him close and tight and pretend he was baby Jesus. For a few seconds I walked into the other room and closed my eyes and pretended he was my baby brother Cam but you know what? He wasn't. He is his own person, all little and beautiful and WISE. I asked his beautiful mum if I could Instagram him and she said <i>"You want to what?"</i><br /><br />And I said - <i>"Oh I just want to circumcise him."</i> And we laughed until I said - Instagram - I just want to take a photo and upload it to my Instagram account because he is SO BEAUTIFUL. And she said sure.<br /><br />Here's the picture I Instagrammed:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MyIGj1n7NV8/VL7Ugzcp_3I/AAAAAAAALZY/0wSm3i0wWXQ/s1600/IMG_3998.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MyIGj1n7NV8/VL7Ugzcp_3I/AAAAAAAALZY/0wSm3i0wWXQ/s1600/IMG_3998.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div><i>I MEAN SERIOUSLY</i><br /><i><br /></i>I showed his mum and she was all, <i>WOW! How did you get such a beautiful photo?</i> And I laughed and said oh I've been taking selfies probably since the eighties. Since way before the word selfie even existed. I snap and snap and snap until I get that perfect one - and showed her my phone photo roll. Twenty-two photos it had taken, to get that perfect shot. And then I zoomed in, filtered it all pretty like and BAM.<br /><br />Edenland = Mother Mary.<br /><br />So here's some take-outs of the baby photo shoot. He holds a LOT of secrets, this gorgeous wee bairn. Told me all of them via osmosis. So I told him a few back.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1roLLqpLX3c/VL7UCmkFIwI/AAAAAAAALYA/26LfyajFfww/s1600/IMG_3982.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1roLLqpLX3c/VL7UCmkFIwI/AAAAAAAALYA/26LfyajFfww/s1600/IMG_3982.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div><i>"Who the hell are you, lady?"</i><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fboJAgzMFpw/VL7UV9qbZgI/AAAAAAAALY4/9KSuNxgppa4/s1600/IMG_3990.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fboJAgzMFpw/VL7UV9qbZgI/AAAAAAAALY4/9KSuNxgppa4/s1600/IMG_3990.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div><i>"I'm a friend of your mums. It's nice to meet you. Welcome to earth."</i><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ly2md78IsyY/VL7UOpbqUXI/AAAAAAAALYg/Dn62S-kubqs/s1600/IMG_3987.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ly2md78IsyY/VL7UOpbqUXI/AAAAAAAALYg/Dn62S-kubqs/s1600/IMG_3987.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div><i>"Yeah well .... mums tummy was much more chill than this place."</i><br /><i><br /></i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vowDxGzhqUI/VL7Ug4NrT9I/AAAAAAAALZc/AZ5ZJMJfibo/s1600/IMG_3994.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vowDxGzhqUI/VL7Ug4NrT9I/AAAAAAAALZc/AZ5ZJMJfibo/s1600/IMG_3994.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div><i><br /></i><i>"Hey it's cool - you got born into a decent family in a privileged country. You're lucky. Life is hard, though. You gotta keep your cool."</i><br /><i><br /></i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nXVe_0P3j5k/VL7UP8mV4EI/AAAAAAAALYo/qUUyIay9ht4/s1600/IMG_3988.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nXVe_0P3j5k/VL7UP8mV4EI/AAAAAAAALYo/qUUyIay9ht4/s1600/IMG_3988.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div><i>"Life? Is that what it's called? What's the meaning of it? Like, why am I even here?"</i><br /><i><br /></i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3cwUtg3Sz_E/VL7UbwCkZ1I/AAAAAAAALZI/TM1y8sann74/s1600/IMG_3993.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3cwUtg3Sz_E/VL7UbwCkZ1I/AAAAAAAALZI/TM1y8sann74/s1600/IMG_3993.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div><i>"Ahhh, see straight away you've hit on THE very question that none of us know. We just have to live it, help others, endure the hard stuff, and find pockets of joy when we can."</i><br /><i><br /></i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-m0PtfVfijC4/VL7T0WJkpNI/AAAAAAAALXI/4d7rX_fhkUg/s1600/IMG_3973.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-m0PtfVfijC4/VL7T0WJkpNI/AAAAAAAALXI/4d7rX_fhkUg/s1600/IMG_3973.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div><i>"Ok cool so .... you got any milk in there?"</i><br /><i><br /></i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WCvM2BE7U7M/VL7TwcGs5II/AAAAAAAALW4/A2gXjSjboCQ/s1600/IMG_3974.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WCvM2BE7U7M/VL7TwcGs5II/AAAAAAAALW4/A2gXjSjboCQ/s1600/IMG_3974.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div><i>"Oh god no. I ran out of milk feeding my own babies and had to start them on formula when they were tiny. I failed at breastfeeding. But I always, always strive to be a good mum. I only just met your mum today but she seems like she's a really, really good one. You got lucky, dude. Not everyone gets born into such love."</i><br /><i><br /></i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4pX2s9J2h9U/VL7UXsczeaI/AAAAAAAALZA/r2uMFrrIk50/s1600/IMG_3991.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4pX2s9J2h9U/VL7UXsczeaI/AAAAAAAALZA/r2uMFrrIk50/s1600/IMG_3991.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div><i>"You seem like a pretty cool chick. I sense you've been through some stuff, in this "life" business. Is this how you do a peace sign? And then I turn it around the other way for the rude sign?"</i><br /><i><br /></i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wNUHjexjcIE/VL7UBko0T9I/AAAAAAAALX0/q8D9DV2DRwg/s1600/IMG_3981.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wNUHjexjcIE/VL7UBko0T9I/AAAAAAAALX0/q8D9DV2DRwg/s1600/IMG_3981.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div><i>"It is. I'm proud of you already. Now - give your mumma lots of sleep. Grow big and tall and strong like one of those huge trees your uncle&nbsp;used to climb. I think you might have met him before you&nbsp;arrived on earth. He would have dug you, like he loves his own kids forever. Sometimes people make choices we can't understand and sometimes life is full of much pain. You stay strong, little buddy. Make sure you cry when you need to - boys need to cry just as much as girls. We're all human. It's ok. I promise you, whatever happens in your life, everything is going to be ok."</i><br /><i><br /></i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FoNLGLsKVQI/VL7T5Uxn1sI/AAAAAAAALXY/T5Qe5BRw-44/s1600/IMG_3977.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FoNLGLsKVQI/VL7T5Uxn1sI/AAAAAAAALXY/T5Qe5BRw-44/s1600/IMG_3977.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div><i>"Ok strange lady well, glad we had this chat. You take care of yourself too. You do know I have all of the secrets of the universe inside of me right now but by the time I can articulate them I'll forget but they'll always be in there. The last place us humans look for the answers to things is inside ourselves. Can I have my mum now? You're wearing a&nbsp;skull necklace and you have&nbsp;tattoos. It's freaking me out a little."</i><br /><i><br /></i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0yBUhfWXqwA/VL7UJIWikTI/AAAAAAAALYY/p0fhRdPy83g/s1600/IMG_3985.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0yBUhfWXqwA/VL7UJIWikTI/AAAAAAAALYY/p0fhRdPy83g/s1600/IMG_3985.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div><i>"Ok sure little guyo just remember - life is too important to be taken seriously. Laugh often. Laugh loud. Let it all go."</i><br /><i><br /></i>::<br /><br />So the next few weeks are a bit rough for Megans family (understatement) with certain painful, sorrow-filled dates. The lead-up is always the worst and I'm thinking of them heaps .... maybe you can keep them all in your thoughts. I'm so grateful to have met them - we've been burnt by the same fire and they're a little bit ahead of me on the grief path but it's a path that that never ends. Because love never ends. Never ever. Ever.<br /><br /><br /></div>eden rileyhttps://plus.google.com/105919584625347453034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6058023473483958257.post-59794687225942701262015-01-16T19:25:00.003+11:002015-01-16T19:25:51.433+11:00The Edenland News Channel: THE WHOLE WORLD<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/cdVODtTB2CM" width="560"></iframe></div>eden rileyhttps://plus.google.com/105919584625347453034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6058023473483958257.post-8742327422304728872015-01-12T11:27:00.000+11:002015-01-12T11:30:27.123+11:00Just A Yellow Cup.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">At 5am this morning I sat up in bed to take my hoodie off and WHACKED my head on the top of Roccos bunk so hard it woke me up good and proper. He's sick and a bit clingy and wanted me to have a "sleepover" in his room.<br /><br />So I padded out to the kitchen and skipped the tea, straight for the coffee. In one of my favourite mugs - I call it my recovery mug. I sat there with warm socks on covered with the blanket <a href="http://childrensbooksdaily.com/">Megans</a> nanna specially crocheted just for me because it's freezing - summer seems to have gone flaccid.<br /><br />And I thought about that mug.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0nscO6xaM3Q/VLMA4gzpBCI/AAAAAAAALWE/QqZqJQQbBEE/s1600/photo-4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0nscO6xaM3Q/VLMA4gzpBCI/AAAAAAAALWE/QqZqJQQbBEE/s1600/photo-4.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div><br />About fifteen years ago I was in the most DUD rehab in Sydney where they wouldn't even let us out for recovery meetings, and took us on visits INSIDE PUBS to get used to our triggers. I'd been to good rehabs before so I knew it was bad but I did the stupid 28 days just to show my perseverance. The group therapy was SO BAD. A joke. It was sterile in there, like a hospital. And in the kitchen, every mug was beige - except this mug, this bright yellow mug with flowers. So I took it into my room and used it every day. It was the only bright thing in the stupid joint.<br /><br />I remember the people in there - the guy who was obviously high EVERY DAY and scratched emo poetry on the outside table with his knife. The dude who was a fireworks expert and was in trouble with the law for trying to blow up his ex. And a woman with blonde hair whose name I won't say but she was in so much pain because the court had ordered her to go to rehab because of a custody battle with her VERY angry husband over their son. She loved her son, cried about him all the time. She was really gentle, softly-spoken woman who looked older than she was and she just couldn't stood drinking and her husband was threatening to take her son away from her, back to Germany.<br /><br />She would sit in the chair every day and silently weep, and weep. And the rehab was so dumb it wasn't doing her any good at all so I took it upon myself to counsel her, talk with her about her options - safe houses, halfways houses, DIFFERENT rehabs, drug and alcohol therapy, the immense value of&nbsp;<i>meetings.</i> Jeez I tried to help her.<br /><br /><i>"I just cannot stop drinking, Eden." </i>In her thick accent.<br /><br />And on the last day, the final day thank GOD my time was up and I proved something to myself by staying ... I was saying goodbye to my loveable gang of misfits and my beautiful blonde friend pressed something into my hands wrapped in newspaper.<br /><br /><i>"Hide it. Don't open it until you drive away."</i><br /><br />I hugged her and drove away. Opened it and there was the cup, my yellow cup with flowers on it. I've had it all this time, fifteen years with a houseful of dysfunction and children and it has not ONE chip on it. It's so, so precious to me that I treat it like any other cup as if it's not different. Sometimes if you treat things all special they break anyway.<br /><br />So. I thought about her today, wondered what became of her and if she ever found sobriety. It's a real hard path. Her son would be a man now. I wonder if she's even still alive. I hope so. Recovery is hard and when you get it you gotta treat it with the care and the respect it demands because if people like me don't have recovery? We don't have anything.<br /><br />I haven't stayed sober since I was given that cup - but since my brother died I have not had one drop of alcohol or any drug. To use now would be deadly. I can't express how hard it's been, to feel such feelings and have no magic numbing potions. I can't drink like everybody else. And the people who pressure or question me the most about the "strangeness" of me not drinking are usually people who have drinking issues themselves. Somebody stood at the dancefloor watching Dave and I do our bridal waltz at our wedding and shook her head.&nbsp;<i>"So she can never drink again."</i><br /><br />Like it was the saddest, most awful news imaginable. Most people don't understand that the freedom and the riches that recovery gives to people like me. It's such a gift, if you work at it ... you can live your life beyond your wildest dreams like Willy Wonka says. I have relapsed a few times after ten years clean time up and it has not been pretty - no damage done to my boys or family, and very quick stupid one-nighters, but they have been disgusting and useless and left me feeling so incredibly beyond awful DON'T DO IT. I have done it for you. The party is over. It doesn't work anymore. You get a headful of recovery and a bodyful of poison? Fucks you up.<br /><br />It's hard to come back. The other night I woke up in the middle of the night in a panic like I usually do and for some reason I had my car keys on my bedside table - I've gone old-school like the good old days and put my recovery keyring on it showing my time up. AND THE KEYTAG WAS GLOW-IN-THE-DARK. And I was panicking but suddenly realised the metaphor, like Obi Wan Kenobi was there.<br /><br /><i>"Use the keytag, Eden. It will light your way."</i><br /><br />And I laughed out loud, in the middle of the night, chasing the bad away.<br /><br />So after my coffee this morning I tiptoed into Roccos bedroom and tried to go back to sleep but Mr Hawk heard me, up like a rocket. We sat there together and I showed him the pilot episode of Mork and Mindy and his laugh tinkled around the room at Morks crazy antics. And while it was sad, watching Robin Williams perform so many years ago without knowing that one day he would end his life, there was joy there too. Because he is FUNNY.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IHoHsMoi-0o/VLMA5YL9iAI/AAAAAAAALWI/aritPkSgSiY/s1600/photo-72.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IHoHsMoi-0o/VLMA5YL9iAI/AAAAAAAALWI/aritPkSgSiY/s1600/photo-72.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>I have never been so proud of my recovery as I am these days, these dark horrible days. But the clouds are lifting and I have things to do and see and a life to be lived and maybe, well, I think I'm going to be ok after all.<br /><br /><br /></div>eden rileyhttps://plus.google.com/105919584625347453034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6058023473483958257.post-36689844946120750582015-01-09T23:28:00.000+11:002015-01-09T23:28:21.185+11:00The Edenland News Channel - Wicked Revenge!<iframe width="420" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/QIWvwQPyHKo" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe> eden rileyhttps://plus.google.com/105919584625347453034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6058023473483958257.post-16298405188948258472015-01-08T12:32:00.001+11:002015-01-08T12:32:42.119+11:00Edenland - A Memoir.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">For a long time, people have been telling me to write a memoir.<br /><br /><i>"You NEED to write a memoir Eden!"</i><br /><i>"Why haven't you written a memoir yet?!"</i><br /><br />Because I wasn't ready. I'd start, write a few bits and pieces here and there and I have files of chunks of jumbled words. I never knew where to start. I never knew I could write the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me god.<br /><br />But I can. I'm ready now. The death of somebody you love so exquisitely blows you open in so many ways it's hard to explain it unless you've been through it. And facing that death - full-on, in the face, and being brought to my knees time and time again from the pain and the whys and the love and the desolation. Some people don't work through their grief. Some people don't work through much, in their lives. They just pay their bills and die.<br /><br />Out with the old, in with the new. I'm going to tell the world everything that happened - because if I'd written a memoir a few years ago it would have been diluted.<br /><br />My memoir will be shocking and full-on. Because that's the life I have lived. We've all got one story, our own story. So it's all coming out this year. All of it. And people may judge and talk and whisper but the only people whose opinion I value is my boys. I don't care what the world thinks of me anymore. I'm free.<br /><br />Really free. The death of my brother has set me free. How does that happen? Life is a trip. I'm not off dulling my pain or not facing up to my stuff. Maybe you were right, Cam. Maybe I was the strongest one after all.<br /><br />2015 - the year of the Edenland memoir. I'm not fucking around here I'm slamming this shit out like water from a tap it'll be that easy and quick.<br /><br />Thank you my brother, for the very painful, very vital lessons you are teaching me. My life began when you were born. My life has not stopped because you are dead. I hope you get to feel my feelings - I hope you get to feel all my emotions and what it feels like to live life DEEPLY.<br /><br />Step into this with me my Cam, my bro. I need you. I really, really need you.<br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UdzNxKSGKUE/VK3dQLNtmXI/AAAAAAAALVw/LsqglQW643g/s1600/photo-70.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UdzNxKSGKUE/VK3dQLNtmXI/AAAAAAAALVw/LsqglQW643g/s1600/photo-70.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /></div>eden rileyhttps://plus.google.com/105919584625347453034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6058023473483958257.post-56334261538069049212015-01-06T16:39:00.000+11:002015-01-06T16:39:04.417+11:00Eden Riley From Edenland Hereby Tenders Her Resignation From The Label "Mummyblogger." (Not that there's anything WRONG with that.)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><iframe frameborder="no" height="450" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/184587695&amp;auto_play=false&amp;hide_related=false&amp;show_comments=true&amp;show_user=true&amp;show_reposts=false&amp;visual=true" width="100%"></iframe></div>eden rileyhttps://plus.google.com/105919584625347453034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6058023473483958257.post-75450754757489240952015-01-03T21:18:00.001+11:002015-01-03T22:59:33.230+11:00His Welfare Is My Concern. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I keep waiting for my brother Cam to stop being dead. I think I'll be waiting forever?<br /><br />Watching The Walking Dead is really helping my grief, in strange ways. Maybe it's the constant loss of people who have built up strong bonds in a harsh world and they must accept each other dying and just keep going, keep searching for that survival instinct to walk down the road again. If Cam was alive he would have loved the SHIT out of a zombie apocalypse. He would have felt strong, had purpose, slicing and dicing those undead like a boss. He would have used his logic and intellect. I would have stuck to him like glue ... he could have taught me things.<br /><br />Intense grief makes you do strange things. (What does it make you do?) I remember counting the shampoo bottles after my stepdad killed himself in 1988 - I got up to seven until I stopped counting. That's a lot of hair washes. I counted the number of vodka bottles under my "real" dads bed when we visited his flat after he died. I remember the indentation of his head in the pillow, how foreign it felt, how I knew I should have felt - more. Something. But he was a stranger to me by then, this man who I look exactly like, have the same posture, facial features, hair. When my second stepdad was dying from pancreatic cancer, I had some time alone with him and while he could still talk he asked me to empty his bedpan. I felt so honoured. His urine was so, so heartbreakingly dark.<br /><br />And there was only one bottle to count when Cam left the building. The nitrogen bottle, that he tricked his body into accepting peacefully as he took his own life. Where did he take it? Where did you go, Cam? Thank you for being with me lately. I feel your love from my toes to my head and I cry, I cry.<br /><br />Last night I ordered Cam to sit on the couch so I could read him a story, the very most favourite story we used to read together when he was little. We both knew all the words. I bought it at Brisbane Museum last week and thought I would never take it out of the bag but I surprised myself like I always do and ripped the bandaid off, took it out of its bag.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-krWkTbbVROs/VKexzePspQI/AAAAAAAALUc/r8XqLz7rgnc/s1600/IMG_4112.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-krWkTbbVROs/VKexzePspQI/AAAAAAAALUc/r8XqLz7rgnc/s1600/IMG_4112.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><i>"Cam. Sit down on the couch while I read you this."</i> (I was always so bossy.) <i>"I helped you with your pain. It's now time for you to help me with mine."</i> Wept and wept before I could read it but I read it all, holding the pages open to him like the old days so he could see the pictures.<br /><br />He is with me. It's true - I can't tell you how I know it's a secret right now. But he is. And it is so comforting, still so heartbreaking, I'm still as scared and confused as ever. But I feel him. I need him so much. Losing somebody you love so deeply cannot be properly articulated. The fallout is enormous and I'm still careening, I will never be the same again. I have an awesome doctor and a beautiful understanding and gentle counsellor so I'm going back, to the wayback machine, filtering and weighing up everything that has ever happened to me in my life.<br /><br />If I do not do this, I will die.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1tHQBBCrMh8/VKezUVTCA7I/AAAAAAAALUo/7WptBvFIASU/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2015-01-03%2Bat%2B8.10.15%2Bpm.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1tHQBBCrMh8/VKezUVTCA7I/AAAAAAAALUo/7WptBvFIASU/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2015-01-03%2Bat%2B8.10.15%2Bpm.png" height="640" width="432" /></a></div><br />I absolutely hate this photo. It was taken a few weeks before he died and he knew he was going to die, already had it all planned and he's surrounded by chicks and people and a vibrant city but he'd had enough. Sometimes when I take that dirty t-shirt out of my bedside table drawer and I hold it and smell it I make sure not to get my tears on it and quickly put it back again, safely tucked away so the smell will stay. And the smell does stay - his smell, my Cams smell, on ME. After I've hugged one of the last things he ever wore.<br /><br />I cannot believe he is gone. My brother was not alive last year. The world is a hard place - *I* was in a hard place those last few weeks of his life and it's really quite hard to be peppy and positive to somebody when you feel so shit yourself.<br /><br />Why was it always up to me? Lots of reasons. He pushed everybody else away until in the end he was so lonely he couldn't stand it. The breakup of a relationship would undo him because it would trigger all of his abandonment. One day I'll write a slam poem about the last girl he ever fucked and I'll make sure nobody records it so I don't get sued. It'll be furious.<br /><br />A month after he died I crashed my car so had to drive his car and I found four almonds in it, like a Blues Clue! Except, the clues lead to nothing. Not even the SIM card tucked up in the corner of his wallet <i>AHA CAM YOU FORGOT TO THROW THIS AWAY! THIS WILL TELL ME ALL THE ANSWERS!</i><br /><br />Nothing will tell me all the answers. Ever.<br /><br />I found his Rayban sunglasses case in the car console (another clue!) but it was empty. What did you do with your Raybans, Cam? Throw them out of the car? Chuck them in a Newtown bin? Give them away to Vinnies with your other stuff? Send them to someone who won't tell me?<br /><br />On the way back <a href="http://www.edenriley.com/2014/10/the-heartlines-on-my-hand.html">from Uganda for World Vision the other week</a> I had five annoying hours at Dubai Airport. I'd just visited some of the most poorest people on earth and I'm in this chockers opulent airport with signs saying <i>"Buy THE most expensive bottle of wine in the world here!" </i>And I don't care if you're Bono - if you buy the worlds most expensive bottle of wine, you are a deadset idiot with screwed up priorities.<br /><br />So I had some American dollars to change over but then I walked past a sunglasses shop and thought <i>"I want some Raybans like Cam."</i> Not need - want. I don't "need" anything. And I tried on so many many pairs and the lady was right next to me making me nervous and fumble until I told her I was going to be a while, could I please have some time and space to choose?<br /><br />That's what growing older does - gives you the chops to say what you feel.<br /><br />And I bought the sunnies that I most remembered looking like Cams last pair of Rayban sunnies and I picked them up from the optometrist today because I had to get prescription lenses put in.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-b3h4iJLp-90/VKe4yaSnvyI/AAAAAAAALU4/Gd7DAD-hDkk/s1600/photo-66.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-b3h4iJLp-90/VKe4yaSnvyI/AAAAAAAALU4/Gd7DAD-hDkk/s1600/photo-66.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>&nbsp;<i>So I got your Raybans, Cam. And I'm going to use your cover to put them in. And I will probably wear Raybans forever now. I just want to do the things you did, to feel close to you.</i><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />After I picked them up I felt really heavy so went to the Three Sisters to take some deep breaths.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-20ZfRtj1OJ8/VKe415dKGtI/AAAAAAAALVI/D8r9Ri8HB6M/s1600/photo-68.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-20ZfRtj1OJ8/VKe415dKGtI/AAAAAAAALVI/D8r9Ri8HB6M/s1600/photo-68.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div><br />They usually always make me feel better.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8NKCTMrdaUc/VKe4yTr-HKI/AAAAAAAALU8/dvyZqVh0e6g/s1600/photo-67.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8NKCTMrdaUc/VKe4yTr-HKI/AAAAAAAALU8/dvyZqVh0e6g/s1600/photo-67.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><br />But they didn't today. Some days, no matter what I do or think or say or read or pray .... I cannot feel better. And that's a testament to my love for you, brother. You were never a burden on me. I was honoured you trusted me with all of your stuff, all your hauntings and dark and hope and plans. You were more mighty than you'll ever know. I'll always wait for you to be not dead! I can't believe it!<br /><br />Also, I'm counting on you to work out all your issues by the time I die because I don't think I'll have the energy to counsel you in heaven.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4Os2tGB0b9A/VKe44eruU5I/AAAAAAAALVQ/dWyKC-yslPI/s1600/photo-69.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4Os2tGB0b9A/VKe44eruU5I/AAAAAAAALVQ/dWyKC-yslPI/s1600/photo-69.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><br />If you were there with me me today we would have mocked the tourists and their selfie sticks and I would have made you take a selfie with me but I was there alone, sad for you, for me, for the Three sisters who were turned into mountains by their father to escape the bunyip and even though the bunyip is long gone, there they stay like the ruby slippers. Beautiful. Frozen. Trapped.<br /><br />You know that scene in Good Will Hunting (I finally watched it on the plane, OH MY GOODNESS!) where Ben Affleck is saying that one day he hopes that he'll knock on Matt Damons door and he won't be there? That's how I felt about the Three Sisters today. One day busloads of confused tourists and tour operators will be out one morning scratching their heads because the sisters' father found the magic to unlock them and make them real again and they walked on out. Free.<br /><br />Cam you just walked on out. I tried to follow you but so far I can't, I must stay, this stupid world is where I have to still be. But it hurts without you in it - it hurts more than you ever could have &nbsp;possibly imagined and I'm fighting real hard to get strong for the BOTH of us. And I menit. I rili menit.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UtVhM92gNSM/VKe45lzVGbI/AAAAAAAALVY/Y3T4KmRBfkU/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2014-09-14%2Bat%2B12.40.32%2BAM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UtVhM92gNSM/VKe45lzVGbI/AAAAAAAALVY/Y3T4KmRBfkU/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2014-09-14%2Bat%2B12.40.32%2BAM.png" height="333" width="400" /></a></div><i>I will never stop grieving you because I will never stop loving you. I am so, so sorry. I love you. I love you so very much with my whole heart and always have and always will. You are teaching me more lessons about life and love and you and me than I have ever learnt in my life. Oh I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.</i><br /><i><br /></i><i><br /></i><br /><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/usZtSl8mX08" width="420"></iframe><br /><i>"No burden is he ... to bear. We'll get there."</i><br /><br /></div></div>eden rileyhttps://plus.google.com/105919584625347453034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6058023473483958257.post-26740306520661721852015-01-02T23:01:00.000+11:002015-01-02T23:01:27.587+11:00It's The Edenland News! (Pilot Episode)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/kJ0-WrGptFE" width="560"></iframe></div>eden rileyhttps://plus.google.com/105919584625347453034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6058023473483958257.post-27686516738260865142015-01-01T01:10:00.002+11:002015-01-01T01:33:45.992+11:00I'm Addicted.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PvoJP8jz6e0/VKP3Jv9y9jI/AAAAAAAALRk/Rlf1VeZX-zg/s1600/photo-57.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PvoJP8jz6e0/VKP3Jv9y9jI/AAAAAAAALRk/Rlf1VeZX-zg/s1600/photo-57.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><br />This is me having a literal smashing end to the year, picking pieces of glass shards out of my bra drenched in fancy mineral water for new years eve. Goodbye 2014. I won't miss you ever ever ever again. You have been the cruelest beast I've ever come up against and the beauty that's been ripped out of my heart and been replaced with nothingningness may one day be replaced with something ... magnificent. Who knows. I didn't lose hope when I should have, way back.<br /><br />Still here. Still.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-j14o2cRwkKE/VKP8zQFtOeI/AAAAAAAALTo/fQNmdlKqPzw/s1600/photo-62.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-j14o2cRwkKE/VKP8zQFtOeI/AAAAAAAALTo/fQNmdlKqPzw/s1600/photo-62.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div><br />The boys and I said goodbye to the VERY wonderful Rydes Southbank Brisbane and checked into Chez Daley for two nights. She put me to work straight away - yesterday was the bedroom situation but today was the folding which was good because I had one of the biggest breakdowns today I've had all year and I NEEDED TO FOLD THE WASHING. I now understand why women do craft. I need some kind of emergency craft kit.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xHTVtAR_4-g/VKP8sqxyNNI/AAAAAAAALTM/kv2RtteKttA/s1600/photo-59.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xHTVtAR_4-g/VKP8sqxyNNI/AAAAAAAALTM/kv2RtteKttA/s1600/photo-59.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div><br />We went out shopping for groceries, leaving the kids with Megans husband. It took a while, for that grocery shopping to get done.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--rW-jfvcLBk/VKP8mcub0QI/AAAAAAAALS4/ZGcm6HOw0iY/s1600/photo-56.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--rW-jfvcLBk/VKP8mcub0QI/AAAAAAAALS4/ZGcm6HOw0iY/s1600/photo-56.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><br />Megan from <a href="http://childrensbooksdaily.com/">Childrens Books Daily</a> and I would NEVER been such incredibly close and bonded friends had our brothers not killed themselves. I adore her. The world works in strange and mysterious ways.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tHMLTNvovjQ/VKQJABkiBaI/AAAAAAAALUI/TOTMhpGkUtU/s1600/photo-64.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tHMLTNvovjQ/VKQJABkiBaI/AAAAAAAALUI/TOTMhpGkUtU/s1600/photo-64.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div><i>The Riles and Dales eating gelato after the movies.&nbsp;</i><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KO_JUlfBwHA/VKP8wE0D4bI/AAAAAAAALTc/m6ecgRQiCp4/s1600/photo-60.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KO_JUlfBwHA/VKP8wE0D4bI/AAAAAAAALTc/m6ecgRQiCp4/s1600/photo-60.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><br />Took the boys to the museum and this co-ordination display IRRITATED THE CRAP OUT OF ME until the boys were BEGGING me to give up.<br /><br />I don't like to give up. But sometimes you have to.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cifQVHTAMqc/VKP8ttFYZ8I/AAAAAAAALTQ/xgxwgt_oe1E/s1600/photo-61.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cifQVHTAMqc/VKP8ttFYZ8I/AAAAAAAALTQ/xgxwgt_oe1E/s1600/photo-61.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><i>Forget Mother of Dragons. I'm Mother of SHARKS.</i><br /><i><br /></i><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F8T-Aidf5AE/VKP_yiO2X3I/AAAAAAAALT4/IRTiRtPza20/s1600/photo-65.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F8T-Aidf5AE/VKP_yiO2X3I/AAAAAAAALT4/IRTiRtPza20/s1600/photo-65.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><i>The very last swim of the year. HE CAN SWIM!!!</i><br /><i><br /></i><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MZHnHRMn-gg/VKP8puSqc4I/AAAAAAAALTE/d__co9XO3yc/s1600/photo-58.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MZHnHRMn-gg/VKP8puSqc4I/AAAAAAAALTE/d__co9XO3yc/s1600/photo-58.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div><i><br /></i>And then&nbsp;somebody&nbsp;accidentally dropped a FULL cup of&nbsp;coffee on the dog and poor Tyson is already an anxious kind of canine but I cleaned all the coffee up just laughing so, so hard. Imagining all the exhausted people, the fights, the sad, mad glorious, incredible, full-on moments people are having right now. All around the world.<br /><br />This year has been beyond hard. I actually prayed for a better one at a recovery meeting tonight listening to how people live their lives purposely, appropriately, with patience and calm and joy and hope. Clearly.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WLGNp8n-ESo/VKP8kHIATnI/AAAAAAAALSs/WRghSh6FXm4/s1600/photo-55.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WLGNp8n-ESo/VKP8kHIATnI/AAAAAAAALSs/WRghSh6FXm4/s1600/photo-55.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div><i>Last pic on my phone for the year, taken outside after the meeting at dusk.</i><br /><i><br /></i>Never have I know such pain. May next year be kinder, for many of us.<br /><br />And now, please to enjoy one of my thirteen-year old magnificent sons favourite songs.<br /><br /><i><br /></i></div><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/EkkpRE660Ls" width="560"></iframe> <br /><br /></div>eden rileyhttps://plus.google.com/105919584625347453034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6058023473483958257.post-21165425161007020252014-12-27T15:26:00.002+11:002014-12-27T15:26:40.279+11:00Invite Me Over For Christmas And I Will Bring You Chocolate Skulls<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">IT IS DONE!<br /><br />Max, Rocco and I spent it at <a href="http://childrensbooksdaily.com/">Megans</a> parents house for a beautiful brunch. I was put in charge of chocolate. They chose the right person to put in charge of chocolate OH YEAH THEY DID.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sVVETpdsUpk/VJ4tGPc-iRI/AAAAAAAALQQ/gjLSmgz04QE/s1600/choc.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sVVETpdsUpk/VJ4tGPc-iRI/AAAAAAAALQQ/gjLSmgz04QE/s1600/choc.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Lovingly chosen and carried on the plane all the way from <a href="http://www.josophans.com.au/">Josophans Chocolates,</a> Blue Mountains yes they ARE white skulls there thank you for noticing. There were more but I think Megan artfully displayed them them before I could take a photo of the fancy box. Megans mums christmas theme was the colour orange so I bought her an aqua bowl of oranges.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vRjJUNqlamw/VJ4n9p0P0vI/AAAAAAAALPk/FmH_FHn6KB4/s1600/IMG_3941.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vRjJUNqlamw/VJ4n9p0P0vI/AAAAAAAALPk/FmH_FHn6KB4/s1600/IMG_3941.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>On Christmas Eve I went to mass with Megan and her family. I haven't been to a mass in a very long time - it was a Catholic service and I still know all the responses. At one point I had to excuse myself and walk right away from the lovely priests with the robes and crouch down in some bushes and keen for my brother because I don't know where he is and my faith is .... well, it's changing is all I can say. (That's a good thing.)<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RXIKScOodDs/VJ4n9YwmWGI/AAAAAAAALPg/Q4yabMkVK9Q/s1600/IMG_3868.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RXIKScOodDs/VJ4n9YwmWGI/AAAAAAAALPg/Q4yabMkVK9Q/s1600/IMG_3868.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div><br />Five years ago at christmas I gave him my hat because he was getting burnt but then I got burnt. Didn't care. I love how our arms are so close together in this photo, all linked up and touching. Oh that face. I know it so well.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Fzv-awi495I/VJ4n-vaPn5I/AAAAAAAALPw/g7uGtGgQziI/s1600/IMG_3950.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Fzv-awi495I/VJ4n-vaPn5I/AAAAAAAALPw/g7uGtGgQziI/s1600/IMG_3950.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Then Megan basically made me come back to her house and made me into a slave to do the most stupid fiddly things. (Kidding - I felt pity upon her and offered.) This was after an afternoon when I opened Santas Wii game for Rocco AND THE DISC WASN'T IN THERE KATOOMBA BIG W AND YOU ALSO SOLD ME THE WRONG REMOTE. Nice one Santa. So I had to hightail it into town with two CRANKY boys, give them money to buy ME a present from them, and I ended up buying Rocco a whole new console - a Wii U or whatever. <i>I can't keep up the 80's was so much easier with just Atari.&nbsp;</i><br /><br />$450 blown. SO ANNOYING I did NOT want to do big presents this year. But he absolutely LOVES IT.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LKA3s-z3amM/VJ4n-tO9sCI/AAAAAAAALP0/qiEtd8fQwpE/s1600/IMG_4001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LKA3s-z3amM/VJ4n-tO9sCI/AAAAAAAALP0/qiEtd8fQwpE/s1600/IMG_4001.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div><br />Santa gave Max money, which he was very happy with. He's just generally happy, and chill, and gorgeous. All of Megans family told me so and I said <i>"Honestly, it has nothing to do with me. It's just how he is."</i><br /><i><br /></i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--aG0OcrjgE4/VJ4n_ilLAGI/AAAAAAAALQA/8DniHJwxyK4/s1600/IMG_4005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--aG0OcrjgE4/VJ4n_ilLAGI/AAAAAAAALQA/8DniHJwxyK4/s1600/IMG_4005.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div><i><br /></i>Even ordering from the kids menu, I have officially banned room service - did a big grocery shop yesterday and oh my lord I am dreading the hotel room service bill. If we ever leave.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--txBQSedtsY/VJ4ttBe_B2I/AAAAAAAALQo/yyswI5lNRs8/s1600/night%2Bview.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--txBQSedtsY/VJ4ttBe_B2I/AAAAAAAALQo/yyswI5lNRs8/s1600/night%2Bview.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div><br />View from our balcony at night time. I have never been to Brisbane before I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU BRISBANE!! SO MUCH!! Fantasising that once Max finishes year 12 Rocco starts year 7 so we can move here seamlessly. It is a beautiful, colourful, vibrant, cultural friendly city. The public transport ROCKS and everybody is so nice!<br /><br />My favourite so far was meeting Megans family - her parents, sister, and brother. She used to have two brothers. We are all burnt by the same fire. We compared war stories, talked of guilt and loss and pain and what-ifs and the endless, endless sea of grief. Such a privilege to meet them and I am so glad Megan emailed me, those years ago during an incredibly traumatic time for her. I wanted so badly to impress them all and I think I did.<br /><br />My boys had a great christmas. Mission accomplished. (Megans really bossy and told me I HAVE to take them to the museum just up the road so I'll take them to see Night at the Museum instead and send her a photo eating popcorn.)<br /><br /><br /></div>eden rileyhttps://plus.google.com/105919584625347453034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6058023473483958257.post-27835998227493717672014-12-21T14:49:00.002+11:002014-12-21T14:49:39.808+11:00Quite Taken.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vuIa79eLelY/VJY0Rh_cfmI/AAAAAAAALOU/4FyDl9jPglI/s1600/IMG_3837.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vuIa79eLelY/VJY0Rh_cfmI/AAAAAAAALOU/4FyDl9jPglI/s1600/IMG_3837.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>&nbsp;<i>"Are we in America yet? Wait - is this Perth? MUM WE FORGOT OUR PASSPORTS!"</i><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bNOBg-Ixr4U/VJY0KVWHo4I/AAAAAAAALNM/3WmL2bUoNOU/s1600/IMG_3698.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bNOBg-Ixr4U/VJY0KVWHo4I/AAAAAAAALNM/3WmL2bUoNOU/s1600/IMG_3698.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><i>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Intrepid.</i><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rJCpg97JLss/VJY0PrRkljI/AAAAAAAALOE/xVi3wNKQpvM/s1600/IMG_3835.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rJCpg97JLss/VJY0PrRkljI/AAAAAAAALOE/xVi3wNKQpvM/s1600/IMG_3835.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div><i>Rocco: "You've already had some of that it's my turn AND you ate my sushi." Me: (Cat-strangled voice) "Do. You. Want. Gelato. Afterwards. Or. Not."</i><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YyOOczG6Oho/VJY0J_ymBTI/AAAAAAAALNI/LETyXgtDYfE/s1600/IMG_3740.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YyOOczG6Oho/VJY0J_ymBTI/AAAAAAAALNI/LETyXgtDYfE/s1600/IMG_3740.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div><br />The gigantic REAL gingerbread house in the lobby. God I want to smash it with a clawhammer and call it art.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ted8B2qfzFM/VJY0SsdwXuI/AAAAAAAALOs/9HE36JzAt98/s1600/IMG_3842.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ted8B2qfzFM/VJY0SsdwXuI/AAAAAAAALOs/9HE36JzAt98/s1600/IMG_3842.PNG" height="640" width="360" /></a></div><br />Megan did you really Instagram this at 2.05am? Shocker! Hey let's just agree to stop kissing at this point. We both clearly don't enjoy it.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-l3JR6X3B0PQ/VJY0QPnxdBI/AAAAAAAALOM/Rl7Gg4oia5w/s1600/IMG_3836.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-l3JR6X3B0PQ/VJY0QPnxdBI/AAAAAAAALOM/Rl7Gg4oia5w/s1600/IMG_3836.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div><i>MUM TAKE A PHOTO OF MY HANDSTAND!</i>&nbsp;(Dude, you're gonna need to improve on your technique.)<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zkuiAZbPFFQ/VJY0OEXccwI/AAAAAAAALNo/4bAgY6aBDBA/s1600/IMG_3830.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zkuiAZbPFFQ/VJY0OEXccwI/AAAAAAAALNo/4bAgY6aBDBA/s1600/IMG_3830.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div><br />Actually, he doesn't need to improve on a goddamn thing. When he was little he told me that when he was with me&nbsp;<i>"his heart was warm."</i> Which to this day is the best description of love I have ever heard.<br /><br />Ok so notice my glasses in the above picture? THEY ARE BRAND NEW FRAMES POSTED TO ME BY <a href="http://coledabbles.blogspot.com.au/">A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN CALLED NICOLE</a> WHO GOT HER HANDS ON MY EXACT DISCONTINUED MODEL. Nicole, you saved me - wait until I show you the DISGUSTING new ones I chose in a rush last week before you contacted me. So bad. I cannot thank you enough, I am so so grateful. These are my favourite, and now they're all new. Freaked out a bit because those were the last glasses Cam ever saw me in - but, they're the same lenses.<br /><br />They're the same lenses. And even further than that - they're the same eyes. My actual eyes saw Cam. I don't need glasses to remind me of that. I can close my eyes and picture my brother any time I need. Nobody can take that away from me.<br /><br />This is what Nicole saved me from: a lost glasses arm and lost hope.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P_jVJBW09IE/VJY4REA-jHI/AAAAAAAALO0/21bJIIrh9Zk/s1600/IMG_3678.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P_jVJBW09IE/VJY4REA-jHI/AAAAAAAALO0/21bJIIrh9Zk/s1600/IMG_3678.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div><br />This is how I still feel, actually. I'm pretty down. A lot of my relationships have been destroyed this year, some still in the process. Death does that. Death blows everything wide open. I guess so does life.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1yrbauXZO38/VJY0RrdD8EI/AAAAAAAALOY/MPJ15RjGZSA/s1600/IMG_3841.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1yrbauXZO38/VJY0RrdD8EI/AAAAAAAALOY/MPJ15RjGZSA/s1600/IMG_3841.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br />::<br /><br />This is the coffee you get when you order one by the pool. Sometimes they give it to you in take-away cups but I specifically ask for the board with the ceramic cup and sugar cubes now. <i>"They just make me feel special."</i> The bartender nods, understands.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xUQHUDjJvRQ/VJY0SPKnwKI/AAAAAAAALOk/gcwcBnxixak/s1600/IMG_3840.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xUQHUDjJvRQ/VJY0SPKnwKI/AAAAAAAALOk/gcwcBnxixak/s1600/IMG_3840.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div><br />We are off to some themes parks in the next few days. I need to go to the chemist for some emergency Nair - waxing is the devils work by the way does anyone know of a business that employs people to take your kids to theme parks? Even though this was ALL my idea I'm like, <i>what have you promised, Eden!!!</i><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uwbVunGBkRY/VJY0JFScCLI/AAAAAAAALNE/w1cOZzxu2N0/s1600/IMG_3767.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uwbVunGBkRY/VJY0JFScCLI/AAAAAAAALNE/w1cOZzxu2N0/s1600/IMG_3767.JPG" height="640" width="640" /></a></div><br />I'm desperately trying to get my hands on Lion King tickets - it's playing just up the road. Sometimes there's cancellations but you have to snap them up really quickly. Am using the QPAC website but have even resorted to eBay and gumtree. I'd love the boys to see. I'm determined they'll see it.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Add4FXL8cjI/VJY0LX-arPI/AAAAAAAALNU/mlWsDsYGwjI/s1600/IMG_3774.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Add4FXL8cjI/VJY0LX-arPI/AAAAAAAALNU/mlWsDsYGwjI/s1600/IMG_3774.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div><br />Brisbane! Max finishes high school just as Rocco starts high school so maybe I can do the move then? I'm taken by you - you have quite taken me and I have needed to be taken, desperately. Thank you.<br /><br /></div>eden rileyhttps://plus.google.com/105919584625347453034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6058023473483958257.post-17597957643662756522014-12-19T18:18:00.004+11:002014-12-19T18:18:38.504+11:00Listen.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>The best part of our holiday so far was sitting with my sons on a grassy riverbank yesterday plain I Spy for about an hour. Nothing to do. Nowhere to rush. Rocco kept saying things like <i>"something starting with yellow."</i> Or <i>"something on that guys shirt."</i> Me and Max got it, we speak pretty good Rocco.<br /><br />I vomited the first night I was here, I think from utter exhaustion and stress and panic, I do find it hard to leave my house. Max put me to bed and tucked me in and <a href="http://childrensbooksdaily.com/">my friend Megan</a> took Rocco to the fake beach here in Brisbane and I slept for eleven hours straight. BRISBANE YOU ARE HOTTER THAN AFRICA. I'm staying at an incredibly opulent hotel <a href="http://www.edenriley.com/2014/12/is-dfat-slang-for-d-fatcat-white.html">and I keep wondering how Ryans mum is going</a> and how the foreign aid cuts will affect the worlds poorest people. I feel conflicted, grateful, whelmed, and there is a deep undercurrent happening inside me concerning my brothers death. Something beyond the pain. It's hard, maybe too sacred to even try and explain right now. Something is evolving. It's taken me so much pain and effort to get here.<br /><br />There seems to be death everywhere at the moment, so we need to live while we're alive. Bukowski says most peoples deaths are a sham because they're already dead. I'm having a big Bukowski year. Are you glad to see the end of this year? Surely the year can't have been bad for everyone. I'll be glad to see it go but it's also the very last few days that I'll be able to say <i>"Cam was alive last year."</i> Like, he was JUST HERE.<br /><br />I forgot to post the last two letters I wrote to home while I was away with World Vision the other week:<br /><br />Letters to Home (Written before I left)<br /><br /><i>DAY FOURTEEN&nbsp;</i><br /><i>So I’m back in the country by now and have probably already spoken to you on the phone! I’m having a few nights in a Sydney hotel and then going to a poetry workshop led by an amazing spoken-word artist. I needed to finish off my trip like this, to gather myself and my thoughts before I come home to you. It’s a little bit selfish I know but I have to take care of myself when I can otherwise I can’t take care of you and you guys KNOW how much I love poetry. I want you all to write me a poem right now, and read it out to me when I get back tomorrow. I’m not joking - we are all poets. Nothing has to rhyme or even make sense. Tell me some words. How do you feel? What do you ache for? Who’s being mean? What would you change? Anybody who writes me a poem gets twenty bucks cash.&nbsp;</i><br /><i><br /></i><i>DAY FIFTEEN&nbsp;</i><br /><i>I WILL BE HOME TODAY! Hopefully I made it and the plane didn’t crash and I didn’t get ebola or beheaded or murdered or kidnapped or ANYTHING. Anything could have happened, you guys. My mission is complete. I went, now I’ve come back, and I hope that things turned out ok for all of us. I hope that I did the people I met justice. I strongly believe in justice, HATE seeing things that are unfair. I never went over there to save anybody - I can only ever save myself. I went because I got asked to go. And sometimes in life, we have to do the thing that scares us the most, shake ourselves up a little. I want you guys to always help other people when you can. It’s your duty. CAN’T WAIT TO HOLD YOU WITH MY ACTUAL HANDS. Love mum xxxxxxx</i><br /><br />SUCH a bummer I missed that poetry workshop. Can you believe not ONE of the guys wrote me a poem?!! <i>"Oh, we already got christmas money from nana in the mail."</i> TURDS. They will write me poem, oh yes they will.<br /><br />You can follow World Vision on:<br /><a href="https://twitter.com/worldvisionaus">Twitter</a><br /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/WorldVisionAustralia">Facebook</a><br />And my favourite is following them on <a href="http://instagram.com/worldvisionaus">Instagram</a> because you're scrolling along and something entirely different and worthwhile and inspiring comes up. It kind of jolts you.<br /><br />You can sponsor a child <a href="http://www.worldvision.com.au/sponsor-a-child/default.aspx?source=blogamb">HERE</a> - it's a big commitment but you'd be helping so much. On the Jetstar flight here the other day a stewardess called Danielle announced over the loudspeaker that she was collecting money for World Vision and I got so excited I stopped her to talk. Gave her some money. Watched her walk down the plane, sad that I was the only one who gave her any money. I know it's a tight time of year. I know there's so many charities and compassion fatigue. But knowing what I know about the people I've just been privileged to visit and listen to, I just felt sad, watching Danielle walk the aisle of the plane without stopping.<br /><br />The only reason I'm on this holiday is because of my brothers death superannuation/insurance. <i>"Hi, your brother killed himself here's a chunk of coin."</i> Doesn't make sense. What the hell does. But thank you, Uncle Cam. My boys are so happy. Happy like you used to be, a long time ago. Right now they're watching Ghostbusters circa 1984. I was proud - until they said it was boring.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3Xcu7Mm0UVA/VJPEp2MVIVI/AAAAAAAALMo/quNCxKxNENg/s1600/IMG_3766.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3Xcu7Mm0UVA/VJPEp2MVIVI/AAAAAAAALMo/quNCxKxNENg/s1600/IMG_3766.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div><i>They remind me of you, Cam. When I parent them, I'm parenting you. And me. Strange but true.&nbsp;</i><br /><br />So. I hope Christmas doesn't eat you up. I hope you're ok ... and lastly, you need to listen. To your heart, your intuition, your spirit, that truth, the birds, the clouds. Even the rocks they were here way before you.<br /><br />And also this song, right now. It might make you feel a smidge better and sometimes a smidge is all you need. xx<br /><br /><br /></div><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/hzMY59pQ0Z8" width="420"></iframe><br /><br /><br /></div>eden rileyhttps://plus.google.com/105919584625347453034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6058023473483958257.post-42538562154073569572014-12-17T10:54:00.000+11:002014-12-17T10:54:59.509+11:00We Just Left On A Whim.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I'm outta here. Gone. Up in the sky right now with my two boys, on our way to Queensland to stay in a hotel with a pool and do all of the worlds - Dreamworld, Movieworld, Wet'n'Wild World. Not Griefworld - they have seen me living there far too long and I will not spoil their holidays. I want them to be blissfully unaware of the worlds problems while they still can. I will not stay a minute longer in this house where all the sad memories are. I cry in the street about foreign aid cuts because babies will die of preventable diseases and vaccinations cost less than a dollar. That literally doesn't add up.<br /><br />So I'm taking my boys for a huge holiday and we're going to order room service, watch in-house movies, read, talk, laugh, and be together. I love my two boys more than I love myself. That is why I stay. I will give them awesome memories and ice cream at 11pm and I'll listen to them when they speak.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UqkH9GoIbZI/VJBHck3B77I/AAAAAAAALLs/46gz2W8KdZ0/s1600/IMG_3616.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UqkH9GoIbZI/VJBHck3B77I/AAAAAAAALLs/46gz2W8KdZ0/s1600/IMG_3616.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><br />The other day at the park? The most important thing in the world was waiting until this ladybug flew off his finger so he could make a wish. He kept accidentally dropping it in the lake about three times and fished it out while I scrunched his blue jumper and held on to him so he wouldn't fall in. I am his keeper, his minder, his carer. Finally the bug flew off and he asked me nicely to go away because he wanted to say his wish out loud.<br /><br />I hope it comes true.<br /><br />He received a christmas card today - the envelope absolutely slayed me.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QGiEAKZL8C0/VJBHYJX55rI/AAAAAAAALLg/KyPC1ZXUwCs/s1600/IMG_3685.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QGiEAKZL8C0/VJBHYJX55rI/AAAAAAAALLg/KyPC1ZXUwCs/s1600/IMG_3685.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><br />As for this guy?<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LgVjae_4BAs/VJBG8u6FTUI/AAAAAAAALLU/npFemc7Jb4U/s1600/IMG_1469.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LgVjae_4BAs/VJBG8u6FTUI/AAAAAAAALLU/npFemc7Jb4U/s1600/IMG_1469.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div><br />He knows too much - has overheard too much, seen too much in the past year. He is the only person who initiates conversations about Cam with me and I am so grateful for that. Stories I didn't know - he still plays a game that Cam introduced him to years ago as they both sat bored together on the couch at a family do. The last time we saw Cam I hired out Waynes World for Max to introduce him to some old-school humour because I knew my brother and I would talk for hours, outside on the back deck. We did. I wrote a blog post the next day about it and I purposely wrote <i>"I hope to see Cam again soon"</i>&nbsp;and I wrote it just for him to read because I knew his dark thoughts. I knew his dark thoughts.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4xevPj_I3kY/VJBGbs_VbaI/AAAAAAAALLE/MBs4e23ROeI/s1600/IMG_3677.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4xevPj_I3kY/VJBGbs_VbaI/AAAAAAAALLE/MBs4e23ROeI/s1600/IMG_3677.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div><br />I was totally just in Uganda for <a href="http://www.worldvision.com.au/sponsor-a-child/default.aspx?source=blogamb">World Vision</a> and have hardly begun to tell the stories that need to be told. About how inclusive a specialised school is that they incorporate teaching children with disabilities in their classrooms. And ALL the kids learn sign language to be able to communicate with their deaf friends. So beautiful.<br /><br />I was really down yesterday and needed a chai so I went to see Owen from Fresh Katoomba and they were out of chai so I said ok better make it a double shot flat white. He reminded me that he hadn't done me a picture for a while, asked what I wanted.<br /><br /><i>"Please don't say the Mona Lisa. EVERYBODY asks for that."</i><br /><br />I told him to surprise me. So he said he'd go old-school for me and do something he used to draw back in the day. I laughed so hard. Laughing is good.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-koTDjOegBvM/VJBGrP_zt5I/AAAAAAAALLM/r7d8ymEPvfs/s1600/IMG_3682.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-koTDjOegBvM/VJBGrP_zt5I/AAAAAAAALLM/r7d8ymEPvfs/s1600/IMG_3682.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div><i>(Hint - woof)</i><br /><br />For the first time in my adult life I haven't put the christmas tree up. We have exactly one decoration in this house, bought from an over-priced gift shop near the River Nile.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nKrlJXRuu74/VJBHb2ecKjI/AAAAAAAALLo/mJ4382AY-gI/s1600/IMG_3686.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nKrlJXRuu74/VJBHb2ecKjI/AAAAAAAALLo/mJ4382AY-gI/s1600/IMG_3686.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i style="text-align: left;">A HANDMADE SANTA DRIVING A WOODEN CAR WHAT MORE DOES ONE NEED?</i></div><i><br /></i>Like everyone, I'm reeling from world events. Especially the Sydney siege. The children in Pakistan. I worry. I worry.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xN8hmziR7wo/VJBGXE-__jI/AAAAAAAALK8/IObvk3nn9rw/s1600/IMG_3669.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xN8hmziR7wo/VJBGXE-__jI/AAAAAAAALK8/IObvk3nn9rw/s1600/IMG_3669.jpg" height="312" width="400" /></a></div><br />::<br /><br />So it appears I kept going, after the most devastating year of my life. I'm still here. And so are you. Well done you. There's always hope.<br /><br />It drives me spare that I appear to have inspired other people but couldn't inspire my own brother. I've started to collate all his stuff laying around the house and my bedroom - photocopies of his death certificate. His aftershave. Wallet. His actual real suicide notes not just photocopies - to me, to his friends, and the first responders. In one of them he wrote how disgusted he was of himself. The pain he was in pains me beyond belief. He is not in that pain now. I'm a bit jealous of that, but I got stuff to do. I always had a sense that me starting a family and having children made him feel a bit pushed out, like he didn't want to be part of us, didn't want to intrude. My friend <a href="http://www.baby-mac.com/">Beth</a> told me that maybe Cam taught me how to love my own children. I think she's right. But I never replaced him with my own. He will always be the first human I ever loved. I never knew exactly how sensitive his heart was until after he died. And until my dying day I will always just want one thing for Christmas which I will never get.<br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mRCVTzY2_Uw/VJBOiv6obrI/AAAAAAAALL8/FelJyDFPwMA/s1600/IMG_3675.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mRCVTzY2_Uw/VJBOiv6obrI/AAAAAAAALL8/FelJyDFPwMA/s1600/IMG_3675.jpg" height="391" width="400" /></a></div><br />As they say in recovery, acceptance is key. Acceptance is also very very painful.<br /><br />So me and the two boys that grew in my belly like miracles are off up in the clouds, visiting my friend <a href="http://childrensbooksdaily.com/">Megan</a> and I can't wait. They are SO EXCITED. I didn't get them that much for Christmas - some books, games. They already have everything. But I'm going to love them so furiously, I am going to give them the best holiday they've ever had and eat burgers and explore and the beds will be made by someone else EVERY day and I'll try not to feel too guilty. Eden Guilt Riley, that's my name, don't wear it out.<br /><br />I've never cared much for myself, but if I don't have a proper holiday I will implode. So bring it, Queensland. There's a deck chair by the pool with my name on it. I will even eat all of your bananas in public with nary a care. NARY.<br /><br />I hope you guys out there are ok. Have a warm shower. Eat icing. Walk. Keep moving. Keep moving.<br /><br />If you tell yourself you'll be ok often enough ... you start to believe it. Pinky swear.<br /><br /><br /></div>eden rileyhttps://plus.google.com/105919584625347453034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6058023473483958257.post-35623789229292834342014-12-16T22:20:00.000+11:002014-12-16T22:26:19.647+11:00Peace On Earth (Warning - Graphic Images)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I'm tired. Are you tired? Wondering what it's all about?<br /><br />Imagine if the world ends up ok in the end after all? Ever think of that? Imagine if the right people come into power and didn't take vaccinations out of the mouths of babies, that people stopped killing each other for no reason, that social justice became law. That we looked hard and long inside ourselves to find .... a different way.<br /><br />I like to think we end up taking care of planet earth, and all of the people in it. All of those beautiful, beautiful people.<br /><br />This is a pretty brutal clip to my very favourite christmas song. The reality is hard to watch .. but listen to the beautiful lyrics. Maybe if we start opening our eyes a little bit more, we can start to change things, change ourselves, change the world. We can. I'm not sure how but I know we can.<br /><br /><br /></div><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/mtFG9gUV_Eg" width="420"></iframe><br /><br /><br /></div>eden rileyhttps://plus.google.com/105919584625347453034noreply@blogger.com0